


It's The Little Things

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Ficlets, First Kiss, Getting Together, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Rated M just in case, Starfleet Academy, Tags to be added as fics are uploaded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: A bunch of small one-shots written in response to various prompts from Tumblr. Mostly Kirk/Spock, with the occasional T'Pura or Chahura in there. Universe will be TOS unless otherwise specified. None of these will ever be rated higher than 'M'. Explicit prompt-response fics are posted separately.





	1. Hiding in Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine."
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G

Under nearly all circumstances, Spock avoided physical contact. It was a well-established preference that each member of the crew respected. Including the single exception to the rule. Though Spock never minded when Jim, in a moment of distraction, placed a hand on his shoulder or took his wrist to guide him somewhere, Jim always apologized for those brief slip-ups and did his best not to repeat them. In spite of the fact that Spock never once told him to stop. In fact, Spock rather looked forward to those few moments of breached boundaries. It was the closest he ever came to Jim, and he had long come to terms with the fact that he wanted desperately to be closer to Jim. 

So Jim’s mumbled apology now was considerate, if unnecessary. It wasn’t as though he had forced their contact. And-- though when Spock contemplated proximity as it applied to he and Jim, a very different kind of closeness came to mind-- he supposed that this also satisfied, at least in some respect. 

It had been Jim’s idea to run down the alleyway, to sequester themselves in an alcove of brick and mortar, just out of sight of the wide city street they’d come from. This planet’s cities were much like those of Earth, an older style, perhaps turn-of-the-century, but he and Jim hadn’t had much time to examine the architecture before they’d been spotted. As they still wore their uniforms and sported 23rd-century technology clipped to their belts, it wouldn’t do to be caught by the planet’s primitive law enforcement. 

So, yes, hiding had been logical. Hiding _here_ , facing each other with less than a millimeter’s breathing room between them, had been logical. And Jim needn’t have apologized for the close quarters. Besides, as Jim craned his neck around the corner of the alcove and his body shifted against Spock’s, Spock felt perhaps that _he_  should be the one to apologize. It was unfair to Jim that he found their proximity pleasurable in any way. In every way. 

“I can’t tell if they’re still there,” Jim said softly, retreating back to the comfort of their scant cover, his expression sheepish as he seemed to shift on his feet, attempting to put more distance between them. But it was impossible. Each time he breathed, Spock felt Jim’s chest press against his own, and it was only the deliberate discomfort of their straight spines that ensured their groins didn’t brush. Spock was not sure if it would be easier on his strained control if Jim were turned the other way or if the position would be too suggestive. He decided he would rather not test it.

 “We should stay for a moment longer, Captain,” Spock whispered calmly, attempting to hide the fact that such a suggestion was entirely self-serving. When Jim huffed a laugh, his breath danced along Spock’s lips, so close they were to bridging that distance, and Spock felt his back straightening.

 “This can’t be comfortable for you, Spock,” Jim said, wiggling a little and pulling his heels against the wall behind him.

 “I am undisturbed,” Spock responded, “and we cannot risk breaking the prime directive due to something as simple as momentary discomfort.”

 “We could ask for a beam-out,” Jim suggested, “but we just got here. I bet we can wait them out.” 

A moment passed, and Jim sighed impatiently, a warm ghost of a feeling that consumed Spock’s senses, and Spock felt his heart pound a little harder in his abdomen. He swallowed, hoping Jim hadn’t felt--

 “Are you alright, Spock?” Jim asked suddenly, care and concern slacking his shoulders and the straight set of his spine, bringing him minutely closer. “Your heart-rate--”

 At that moment, footsteps rang out against the walls of their alley, and a voice reached them. “I think I saw them go this way!”

 Jim met Spock’s eyes and, with a look of apology, reached between them to take the communicator from his belt. His knuckles brushed the peak of Spock’s hip, and even through his clothing the feeling made him swallow.

 Flipping open the communicator, Jim whispered into it, “two for emergency beam out,” he said softly. But the footsteps were coming closer and it could take a moment for the message to come through and in seconds the authorities would be upon them and there was really no other way to hide so really it would only be logical--

 In a split-second, Spock decided: If they couldn’t hide, perhaps they could distract.

 As the footsteps echoed mere feet from their alcove and Jim’s worried eyes met his, Spock placed his hands on either side of Jim’s face and pulled him in, fastening their lips together. He had hoped, when he closed his eyes and breathed in Jim’s breath and pressed his body fully against Jim’s, that the officers may not notice two people expressing affection in a deserted alleyway, but it turned out that hope-- and the actions that accompanied it-- were unnecessary. 

Just as the footsteps reached them, Spock felt the familiar tingle of a transporter beam, a surge of electricity coursing through his frame, and a feeling of momentary displacement before he felt himself, and the body against him, rematerialize. Spock’s hands still cupped Jim’s cheeks, his lips still fit into the grooves of Jim’s, and he had to force himself to open his eyes. Jim’s were wide, his arms straight at his sides, his cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, and it took exactly 2.43 seconds for Spock to drop his hands and step away. When he did, he opened his mouth to speak, to defend his actions to his stunned-silent captain. 

But another voice burst in before he could say a word. “Ah... should we’ve left ye down there a little longer?” Mister Scott said from somewhere to his side, and Spock whipped around to see Scott and a young transporter technician, standing there by the console, looks of amused disbelief on their faces. And when he turned back to Jim, he saw the same expression begin to overtake his captain’s surprise. 

“Nonsense, Mister Scott,” Jim said, seemingly regaining himself. “We were simply providing a very logical distraction, weren’t we Mister Spock?” 

Spock cleared his throat, then tucked his hands behind his back, forcing a little more distance between himself and Jim. “Indeed, yes. However, your quick intervention proved it unnecessary. Thank you, Mister Scott.”

 “Of course,” Scotty said, exchanging a look with the technician. There was a moment of awkward silence before Jim clapped his hands together, stepping off the pad. 

“Well, now we know the city doesn’t sleep at night. Why don’t we find some appropriate disguise before attempt number two, eh, Mister Spock?” 

Spock nodded, unsure if Jim’s sudden joviality should be cause for concern or celebration, but following Jim toward the door all the same. Mister Scott and his companion thankfully held their comments as Spock and Jim wandered out into the hallway. But Jim met Spock’s eyes, something knowing in them. “I applaud your quick thinking,” he tested as they walked, Spock attempting to ignore how close Jim stuck to him, though the corridor was far from crowded enough to necessitate such proximity. 

“Thank you, Captain. It seemed logical at the time.”

 Jim chuckled, the eyes that met Spock’s turning warm and inviting. “Of course, I assume it didn’t occur to you that whether or not we were kissing, the officers would have noticed our clothes? Or those pointed ears of yours?”

 Spock felt himself flush. In honesty, the thought had occurred to him, but maybe he had simply hoped it wouldn’t occur to Jim. At Spock’s expression, Jim’s grin widened.

 “Oh, don’t concern yourself with it, Mister Spock,” he said gently, nudging his shoulder against Spock’s in one of those casual touches that had become so treasured. “In fact, I wouldn’t object if you happened to think of more logical reasons to kiss me in the future.”

 Spock felt his steps falter, disbelief completely dismantling his impassive mask. But Jim didn’t comment. He just laughed and led Spock forward, occasionally placing a hand on his elbow to guide him. This, Spock decided, was a kind of closeness he could very easily get used to.


	2. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved."
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Setting: Right after Journey to Babel

Once again, Spock found himself on the receiving end of his father’s anger. Well, since Sarek would never admit to anger, it was more that Spock found himself on the receiving end of Sarek’s perfectly logical disappointment. In either case, he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it. He never was. He could stand against any furious tide but his father’s, and this situation was decidedly more serious than most.

 “A human,” Sarek said once again, standing in the center of Spock’s quarters after seemingly not hearing Spock’s request that he sit. It was illogical to repeat the words, as they had at this point established that yes, Spock was in love with a human. Was, in fact, already mentally bonded to said human. He had been worried when his parents boarded the Enterprise that they may discover the relationship that had bloomed between he and Jim, but he had hoped with all the excitement of assassination attempts and Sarek’s own brush with death, they may have been distracted enough not to notice anything odd. Unfortunately, he underestimated his parents’ powers of observation. 

“As you are married to a human,” Spock responded cooly, “I see no logic in disapproving my choice in mate. Mother is fond of him.” 

“Your mother is fond of everyone,” Sarek said, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “While I respect Captain Kirk, I do not believe he is a suitable partner and I request you  rethink your choices.” 

Something icy settling in his stomach, Spock remained defiant. There was much he would do for his father, but he would not do this. “I understand your request, but I will not honor it.”

 Sarek stiffened, his face etched in hard, angry lines. After saving his father’s life just yesterday, Spock had thought their relationship may improve. But it seemed they were back to square one, as Jim would put it. 

Just as the thought of his bondmate entered his mind, the door chimed. Eager for a respite from his father’s anger, Spock stood from his desk and strode toward it, ignoring Sarek’s affronted expression.

 It was, in fact, Jim who stood on its other side, looking harried as though he had rushed here. “Ah, Ambassador Sarek,” Jim greeted as he walked in, shooting Spock a small smile. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

Spock didn’t know if the lie was as obvious to Sarek as it was to him, but it was clear that Jim had come expressly _because_ he knew Sarek would be here-- and that he had come as soon as he was aware. Spock took only a moment to wonder at his bondmate’s motivations before closing the door and joining Jim where he stood facing Spock’s father.

 “If you will excuse us, Captain,” Sarek said, “my son and I are in the middle of an important conversation.”

 Jim had the wherewithal not to flash his usual bright smile, opting instead for a gentle tick of his lips. “To be quite honest, Ambassador,” he said, “I believe this might be the kind of conversation I should be here for.”

 Ruse over, Spock shifted slightly closer to Jim, standing in solidarity against Sarek’s displeasure. Sarek lifted his chin.

“Perhaps you are correct. As attempting to talk sense into my son has had little effect, it may be logical to attempt to talk sense into you.” There was a heavy pause and Jim raised his brows expectantly. “You must terminate your relationship and allow Spock the opportunity to find a Vulcan mate.”

 Spock nearly smiled, but fought back the urge. The quickest way to ensure Jim would do something was to tell him not to do it. The word ‘must’ hung in the air among them.

 “You’re quite right,” Jim said, and Spock whipped his head to look at him, his heart faltering on its next beat and his momentary joy fleeing him. Jim seemed perfectly composed, content, even, looking indulgently at the stony Vulcan before him and, apparently, not registering Spock’s distress at all.

Sarek’ expression smacked of surprise-- to Spock, at least. It was likely Jim wouldn’t notice it. “I am pleased you agree,” he said cautiously.

 His caution was warranted. By the confident set of Jim’s shoulders, Spock was fairly certain Jim was not about to break up with him based on the whims of his father, but still he didn’t understand Jim’s game. Chess? Poker?

 “My primary concern is the well-being of this ship and its crew,” Jim said, a non sequitur until he continued, “If Spock is unhappy in a relationship with a human, then of course I’ll give him the space to find a Vulcan mate.”

 “I did not wish to insinuate that he is unhappy. Simply that he is behaving unreasonably.”

“Of course,” Jim continued, crossing his arms over his chest. “Happiness is irrelevant so long as one is being reasonable about things. Although, I do have to wonder-- is there any reason in doing something that makes you miserable?”

 “You mean to say that adhering to his birthright would make him miserable?” Sarek came about as close to a scoff as Spock had ever seen him. “Your fault, Captain, is that you continuously ascribe human emotions to those incapable of feeling them.”

 Jim’s smile tilted and Spock shifted on his feet. It _was_ chess, and this looked to be Jim’s penultimate move.

“So just now, everything Amanda was telling me about how you call her ashayam and how you cuddle in your sleep-- those are just logical ways to appease your human wife’s need for affection?”

 A silence settled between them, and Spock, to his awe and horror, saw a green tint creep its way up Sarek’s cheeks.

 “You have spoken with Amanda about our relationship?”  
“Naturally,” Jim said with a small chuckle. “As I plan to marry a Vulcan myself, it seemed ‘logical’ to ask an expert for advice. Wouldn’t you say?”

 Spock felt a warmth rising in his chest, a pride that washed over him when Jim tilted his head to meet his eyes. Just briefly, but long enough. Sarek seemed to caught up in his sputtering embarrassment to notice. 

“My relationship with Amanda is entirely different. Marrying her was a duty of my Ambassadorship, not an expression of love.”

 “As is cuddling in your sleep, of course. Pardon my ignorance.” Jim said it with a small, winning smile.

What killed Spock, what truly made his heart thrum and his affection overflow toward his bondmate, was that by all appearances Jim was being nothing but polite and courteous to Spock’s father. Only the gentle contradictions indicated that they were arguing at all. But were they even arguing? Spock honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

 Sarek’s eyes narrowed and a beat of silence passed. Spock couldn’t fathom what was going on in his father’s head. “You say you plan to marry my son?”

 For the first time, that teasing sort of smile faded from Jim’s face, barely noticeable. “Absolutely,” Jim said, the seriousness of his tone weighing down the word. “If he will have me.”

 Sarek’s lips tightened and he turned his attention to Spock, who was silent and dubmstruck and a thousand other things he should have suppressed, but the solid presence of Jim at his side often grounded him when logic would not.

 “It seems, Captain, that he will not be rid of you.”

 Jim’s smile returned at that. “Then we’re all behaving reasonably, given the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?” The insinuation, that Sarek’s objection was the only unreasonable thing about this conversation, sank into Spock. Checkmate.

 He watched his father carefully.

 For a few moments, Sarek did nothing, said nothing, stood still as though he were a statue. Then, he inclined his head gently. “I believe I have left my wife alone far too long, now that she is without the distraction of your company, Captain. I will take my leave.”

 He moved toward the door, paused, and looked behind him. Jim shifted so that his shoulder brushed against Spock’s, laying an obvious, nonverbal claim on him.

 “Spock, I will see you before we leave the Enterprise.”

 “Yes, father,” Spock said, agreeing only because he knew their next conversation would not include the same objections. Maybe it would even include an approval.

 When the door closed behind Sarek, Jim let out a breath of relief, turning to him and placing a hand on his arm gently. “I apologize for not coming sooner, but the second Amanda mentioned you two might be discussing--”

“Jim,” Spock cut him off, laying his hand over Jim’s and allowing his barest affection for him to flow through their touch. Jim’s expression softened as their eyes locked on each other. “Your timing was impeccable. As was the rest of it. No one has ever spoken to my father in such a way.”

 Jim laughed, bringing himself closer, threading their fingers together. “Probably not the easiest way to get him to like me,” he said regretfully, but Spock would not allow that regret to stand.

 “But certainly you garnered his respect. Affection may come later.”

 “If at all,” Jim said, but he was smiling. Spock found that a smile had reached his own lips, too. He may not have made the most ‘reasonable’ choice in Jim Kirk, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had made the right one.


	3. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "Space Husbands: We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair"
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G

Always the first to admit when he made a mistake, always the first to admit he could have done better, Jim Kirk wasn’t prone to excessive pride. However, in this case, he _was_ inordinately proud of himself. A whole night, he’d spent sharing a narrow bed with his tantalizingly oblivious first officer, and all night he had kept his hands respectfully to himself, even managed to drift off once he stopped thinking about how good Spock smelled and how warm he was, laying mere inches away. Close enough to touch, to hold, to curl up to, and yet Jim had refrained.

_ Well done, Captain.  _

Spock had offered to sleep on the floor, but it hadn’t been his fault that the outpost on this far-off moon didn’t have the resources to support a whole Starfleet landing party. They’d all had to share rooms, all had to share beds, and frankly the environmental controls in this place were astoundingly horrible. Spock could have frozen to death if he’d curled up in a meager blanket on the cool metal floor. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but he would have been uncomfortable.

So as Jim stirred and realized blearily that he had maintained the distance of inches even in his sleep, he glowed, deciding that if he could tame the beast of his attraction and affection even here, even like this, then he could do it anywhere. It was a nice revelation, considering he’d spent the last, oh, three years wondering how much longer he could keep it contained. Sometimes it was overwhelming, how desperately he wanted and how painfully aware he was that his wanting would never be reciprocated. But now, he woke up a new man. A confident man. A man who could handle anything and keep his feelings under wraps and--

And then he opened his eyes, and it felt as though he’d been drenched in ice water. Spock had rolled in the night and now faced Jim, his hands tucked up by his face as though he’d been cradling his pillow in his sleep. His perfectly controlled hair had been mussed, bangs laying sideways, strands sticking up with static. Lips parted, he breathed gently, and only now did Jim realize he could feel that breath on his own face. Yes, he had maintained distance in the night, but they were still far closer than they ever had been. And he had never-- ever-- seen Spock like this. Disheveled, unguarded, uncomposed.

He was beautiful. 

Jim’s pride drained from him, along with his resolve and his dignity and at least ninety percent of his control because how many times had he envisioned this? Waking up beside Spock with light filtering in through the window and warmth beneath the blankets? This could easily have been one of those lazy mornings in his fantasies, except that it was real, and made all the more painful and beautiful for it.

He should have gotten up. He was awake, after all, which meant that soon Spock would be too. He should have started the process of dressing, fixing his hair, preparing to command this landing party like he was supposed to, but who could fault him for wanting to pretend for a moment? For wanting to soak up this one, solitary experience when he knew he would never have another?

So he watched, memorizing the way the lines at the corners of Spock’s mouth were slack in his sleep, memorizing the gentle curl of his eyelashes, memorizing that quiet, vulnerable face, and aching with the knowledge that he couldn’t reach out to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead. He wasn’t allowed a touch so intimate. Even considering it crossed more boundaries than he was comfortable with.

Some time passed, but Jim knew almost instinctively the moment Spock began to stir. He could practically feel it in the subtle tensing of Spock’s muscles, in the way his eyelids seemed to shudder. And still, Jim stared. He was too far gone, now, too absorbed in the wishes and the hopes and the what ifs that when Spock actually opened his eyes, blinking himself into the morning, he almost forgot why he should have looked away. Because suddenly there _was_ no looking away, not when those dark eyes focused on his own. But they betrayed no discomfort, no fear. Rather, Spock seemed to take in the sight of Jim beside him with just as much focus as Jim had.

They were quiet for a moment, but Spock did not pull away. In fact, he didn’t move at all. “Good morning, Jim,” he said. Not ‘captain.’ No affect of professionalism. The phrase was said, instead, the way that Jim had long wanted it to be said. With a kind of contentment at the edges of each word that Jim hardly believed he deserved to hear.

“Good morning, Spock,” he replied in much the same vein, his tone naked, revealing, looking into those bleary, sleep-clouded eyes as though nothing else existed, and for a moment nothing did. He forgot where they were, and why, who he was but for the fact that he was a man in love. And, God, he had loved Spock far too long, too ardently to tear himself from him now.

“Have you been awake very long?” Spock asked, his voice so delightfully low, and somewhere in Jim’s mind he knew he shouldn’t answer honestly. He should say he’d only just stirred, that he hadn’t spent interminable minutes staring at his first officer’s sleeping face. But there was something inherently truthful about this moment, and instinct answered before Jim did.

“Yes,” he said.

Spock hummed in the back of his throat, and Jim thought his heart would stop beating when Spock’s lips curled, a small smile. “And yet you have not yet risen.”

Jim’s vocal chords seemed to freeze, and he wasn’t even able to swallow, to do anything to clear the veritable desert his mouth had become. “I couldn’t,” he said, traitorous words spilling out before he could convince himself not to say them.

Considering that for a moment, thankfully without any judgement that Jim could sense, Spock seemed to rest heavier against his pillow, his eyelids falling like half-closed curtains, and he looked so serene and beautiful and happy Jim almost believed he was still dreaming.

“I find I am reticent to do so myself,” Spock finally said. And one of those hands that had been resting sweetly beside Spock’s head reached out, brushing a few locks of wayward hair back from Jim’s forehead, smoothing them against Jim’s scalp, a tender touch that felt hesitant, as though Spock was as unsure as Jim. And just as unable to contain his honesty.

Spock was _touching_ him, softly, as though afraid he might break Jim if he pressed too hard, or as though afraid he might break the moment. Jim held his breath for the same reason, unwilling to believe that whatever was happening between them was truly happening. If he had only known that these moments on the edge of consciousness were so precious, so valuable, so real, he would have sought Spock like this so long ago.

“Spock?” Jim asked around the lump in his throat, unsure what else he could say. 

Eyes widening, sleep fleeing from him in a single wrenching moment, Spock withdrew his hand. He seemed to stiffen as that warm, inviting half-smile faded, as though Jim had called attention to some error he was making. But, no, no, Jim almost whined at the absence of Spock’s touch, the feeling of his hair falling back against his forehead, the realization that he had ruined this strange, quiet peace they’d found themselves in and now their comfort was replaced with this.

Spock shuffled back an inch, suddenly much more awake, aware, embarrassed and green-tinted. “I apologize. I should not have--”

Jim didn’t care what Spock should have done or not. He didn’t care what followed those words. They were a facade, weren’t they? That vulnerable touch had been the truth, an indication of what had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. Without thinking, Jim hefted himself on his elbow and brought himself forward, cupping Spock’s jaw. He hesitated just for a moment, hovering above Spock’s lips as though there were any hope he could actually pull himself away now.

But then it was Spock who brought his lips to Jim’s, closing those inches between them that Jim had worked so hard to maintain through the night, effortlessly pressing against him as though he had done it a thousand times, as though he would do it a thousand more, as though it were natural, organic. Honest.

The kiss didn’t linger long. It felt chaste, leading to nothing and prompted by nothing, except whatever emotion it was that hung between them when they parted. When Jim settled once again on the pillow, he left his hand where it was, still soft as it laid over Spock’s skin, his thumb tenderly stroking the near-smiling line at the corner of Spock’s lips. And pride soared within him again. Not because he had denied his impulses and hidden his feelings, but because for once he had laid them bare. And they had been accepted.

They would have to discuss this, Jim knew, someday when they weren’t on an alien planet with a mission and an objective and a clear set of orders to adhere to. But for the first time in a long time, they understood each other perfectly, staring into each other’s eyes with the steady, comfortable knowledge that their worlds had shifted with the gentle pressure of that kiss. And nothing more needed to be said. Not now.


	4. Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: A First Kiss
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Universe: AOS (Abrams-verse, Nu-Trek, Reboot, whatever you want to call it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my older ones, and I actually completely forgot I wrote it! Funny how that happens.

“Systems functioning normally, Captain,” Scotty reported, the same drawn-out half-yawn that was in his voice the last time he’d reported the same, an hour before. **  
**

Jim sank lower in his chair, stifling a yawn of his own. The bridge was as bright as it ever was, though by the ship’s clock it was well past midnight. He was alone, watching the space station they were orbiting through the viewscreen. His whole function right now was to keep up standard orbit and monitor systems, while the crew enjoyed themselves on the station. Someone would come to relieve him in a few hours, just like someone would come to relieve the rest of the few officers left on board. Except Scotty, of course.

“Scotty, go to bed,” Jim said, eyes rolling. “Just because we have a skeleton crew doesn’t mean the ship is going to explode.”

“You dinnae know that.” Scott warned, earning a sleepy laugh from Jim.

“Is that why you rejected shore leave, again?”

“Someone’s got te look out for the ship, sir.”

“And I’ll look out for her while you’re asleep. Besides. Mister Spock is around here somewhere. He’s got everything under control.”

“Aye, maybe I’ll take forty winks and trust it to Mister Spock for an hour.”

“Oh, I see, so you trust Spock and not your own captain?” Jim was teasing, of course. Scotty could take it.

“The way yer always flyin’ her into certain peril? I don’t think so.”

Jim laughed out a “goodnight, Scotty” and heard the engineer sign off. He returned his eyes to the viewsceen, watching the station disappear to their side again, like the slowest merry-go-round in existence.

He actually rather liked the ship like this. It was wonderful when it was bustling with his crew, when they sped through its halls like blood cells, the sound of their lives echoing off bulkheads, the constant activity, but he also loved the silence, the quiet hum of its machinery, the occasional beeping of a monitor, the starlight through the viewscreen. He’d never really had a chance to experience it like this in the year he’d been captain.

Recently, they’d lost a few crew members to a natural disaster on an unpredictable planet, after a few other miserable missions. Jim needed the break and he needed the time alone.

Until the turbolift doors opened behind him and Spock strode in, nose buried in a datapadd. He didn’t even look up as he took his seat at his station, seemingly busy, though Jim could hardly guess with what.

“What are you doing up here, Spock? I thought you were spending time in the labs?”

Jim wasn’t disappointed to see him, not in the slightest (Spock was often so silent Jim may as well have been alone) but it _was_ strange.

“The labs are empty,” Spock said in response, only daring to look at Jim for a moment.

Jim looked around the deserted bridge, half-shrugging. “The _ship_ is empty. Shore leave, remember?”

“I am aware of the state of the ship, Captain,” Spock almost shot back, and Jim was taken aback. Things had evened out immeasurably between the two of them over the last year, and it was rare that Spock changed the tenor of his voice, except during a crisis. This was hardly a crisis.

“So, what’s the problem then, Commander?” Jim used the title to remind Spock to watch his tone, though he felt disingenuous using it, it seemed to do the trick. Spock stilled, set down his datapadd and turned his eyes to the viewscreen.

“It is disquieting. I am used to more ambient activity.”

Jim allowed himself a small smile. When Spock turned back to him, he could tell the Vulcan did not appreciate the look.

“You’re lonely? Why, Mister Spock, I’m surprised.”

“I do not know why you should be,” Spock insisted, clearly perturbed. But he didn’t deny the emotion either. “I have adapted to the often obtrusive, loud and inconsiderate company of my human crewmates. Re-adapting to quiet focus is no simple matter.”

Jim sighed, but didn’t let the smile fade. He didn’t want to tease Spock for admitting to a feeling. Heck, he wanted to encourage it. And he wasn’t about to take the comments about humans seriously. At this point he’d suffered enough bickering between Spock and Bones to know it was all in good fun.

He got up from his seat and went over to Spock’s station, leaning on the panel beside him.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said, though it didn’t exactly make sense to him. “You know if you try to get any work done up here, I’m probably going to distract you,” Jim said with a small laugh.

Spock met his eyes without hesitation. “I was counting on it.”

Jim blinked. Something in the tone of Spock’s voice was arresting. It was low, almost nervous, and Jim replayed it in his mind a few times before he responded, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Sometimes Spock could be hard to read, though he thought he’d gotten pretty good at it.

“Oh?” And that was all that came out.

Spock also stood and, in an endearingly human way, leaned against the console beside Jim. Their shoulders almost touched.

“I have been looking for an opportunity to speak with you.”

Jim took a play out of Spock’s book and raised an eyebrow. That was never a good way to lead a conversation, but Spock actually looked nervous– for Spock, anyway– so Jim kept silent.

“It has become clear over the last year that you are a highly proficient captain,” Spock led, and Jim felt a little flutter of pride at the compliment. “It has been enlightening to serve under you.”

The flutter turned into something decidedly heavier, and Jim narrowed his eyes. “ _Has_ been?”

“To clarify,” Spock practically rushed to say, “I do not wish to leave the _Enterprise_. I simply do not believe that you require me in the position of first officer.”

Jim’s blood turned to ice. He pushed himself off the panel whirring around to look Spock in the eyes. “Excuse me, could you repeat that, Commander?”

“I would like to remain science officer, but it is not necessary for us to continue to work in this proximity. If my decision offends you and you prefer to have me transferred. I will of course defer to your judgement.”

“Where is this coming from?” Jim asked, attempting not to grind his teeth on the words. He felt his panic turning to anger, and he tried to suppress it. Thank goodness they were alone or he would be making a terrible scene.

“You no longer require my assistance. You have proven yourself capable.”

“No captain _doesn’t need_ a first officer,” Jim retorted, entirely unable to believe that Spock believed in him this much.

“Of course not,” Spock said, also standing straight, “I recommend Mister Sulu for the position. He is an exemplary officer and–”

“Spock, where is this really coming from? You can’t expect me to believe that you think I’ve outgrown your skills. You’re the best first officer in the fleet, the best officer in _general_ if you ask me, and I’m a much better captain with you. You know that, right?” Jim couldn’t help that his tone had gone a little frantic. The fear was starting to sink in, confusion and anger peppering it.

“It is simply not necessary to continue–”

“Don’t give me anything about being _necessary_ –”

“If you would cease interrupting me, I could explain–”

“You _have_ explained and I’m still not getting–”

“I am no longer capable of working with you directly.” Spock nearly shouted those words, and they stopped Jim’s tirade in its tracks. Spock tucked his hands behind his back, for all intents and purposes the picture of composure.

There was a pause.

“Why not? And no bullshit this time.”

A vein twitched in Spock’s cheek as though he were clenching his teeth against a reply.

Jim waited a second longer than he felt was necessary and then turned on his heel, stalking off though he didn’t know where. He couldn’t exactly leave the bridge.

He heard Spock’s carefully measured footsteps behind him, which he was determined to ignore until a hand reached his shoulder and turned him around, forcefully. Jim almost shouted, almost shoved Spock back, trying to find an outlet for the very real hurt and frustration he was feeling, but the look in Spock’s eyes stilled him.

It looked as though Spock were trying to say something without saying it, and Jim just wasn’t getting it.

“I’m not a telepath, Spock,” he reminded him gently, the fire gone. “Just, tell me.”

Spock took a breath and, eyes locked on Jim’s, slid his hand from Jim’s shoulder down his arm. It was almost a caress, leaving a surprisingly pleasant trail of goosebumps under Jim’s sleeve. When Spock reached Jim’s wrist, he gripped it gently, bringing Jim’s hand up to face-height. Jim held it there, watching in mute wonder as Spock took Jim’s fingers with both of his hands, curling his pinky, ring finger and thumb inwards, straightening the other two.

He placed his own hand in mirror to Jim’s and touched their fingers together. At the contact, both of them hitched a breath, Jim shocked at the warm hum that flowed between them, but Spock…

Spock tore his fingers away almost immediately, and closed his eyes, turning from Jim in what he could only assume was shame.

Jim felt a different kind of panic hit him then. Panic because he had a vague idea of what that might have meant. Panic because he felt like nothing had really changed. Panic because it had felt good and he was sure now, looking at the tight shoulders of his first officer, that he wasn’t going to be able to feel it again. “What was that?”

“That was your answer, Captain,” Spock said stiffly, and Jim almost winced. “I can no longer work closely with you. My impulses are difficult to control under the best of circumstances. You are a challenge I am no longer able to face, nor do circumstances require me to face it.”

Jim almost gaped, running through a rolodex of memories in his mind, evidence of Spock’s affection in shared glances, chess games, the moment after phaser-fire where Spock would scan Jim’s body for injury… he suddenly felt as though he should have guessed this whole time, but who could possibly have known?

Jim moved toward Spock, still back-turned, still standing straight as a rail. The implications of what he was about to do intruded into his mind, and he waved them away. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter at all.

He reached out and took Spock’s wrist, just as Spock had done moments before. Spock immediately faced him, and Jim saw the hope and confusion barely disguised in the Vulcan’s usually impassable expression.

“What if it wasn’t a challenge anymore?” Jim asked, touching his two fingers to Spock’s as he stepped a little closer. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Spock had stopped breathing. Jim’s own mouth was dry, and his own heart beat as though it were trying to break free from his ribs.

“Jim,” Spock said, something begging in his voice. _Don’t tempt me, don’t tease me, don’t take this lightly_ , he seemed to be pleading, and Jim could swear he actually heard him.

“I won’t,” he replied, stroking his fingers along Spock’s and bringing his other hand to Spock’s neck. He pulled the man closer. “I need you, Spock.” He meant it in so many ways, all of which he tried to instill in those words; as a first officer, as a friend, as a brother, as–

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” Spock all but whispered, and Jim didn’t have a chance to ask what it meant before Spock’s lips were on his, gentle, warm and reassuring.


	5. Snow White in Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: A kiss given to the wrong person
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Universe: TOS, but TOS where Amok Time never happened, but pretty much everything else in the series has. It’s just, let’s be real. Post-Amok-Time, they’re already dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another oldie! The title is terrible but it's exactly what it is. Haha!

 

Jim hated to see Spock like this. It was a view he’d become too familiar with over the years.The blinking lights above his bed, the thin sheet pulled over his still form, everything still but the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. It always worried him, but never more than now.

“You’re going to have to repeat that, Bones,” Jim said, a hitch in his voice he didn’t have the energy to hide.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, Jim,” Bones said, laying a careful hand on Jim’s shoulder as though expecting his captain to shake it off. “But I can’t do anything for him.”

Jim could hear it in Bones’ voice– the man was as distraught as he was, trying to stay strong for his friend. That was Jim’s first indication that maybe this time his first officer wasn’t going to wake up.

That would not stand.

“We’re going to fix him,” Jim said, determination overcoming grief, as it so often had to do. He laid a hand on Spock’s arm for just a moment, just long enough to attempt to channel the Vulcan’s strength and ingenuity. “You said you can’t fix him. But maybe someone else can. The attack was directed at his mind, right?”

“Well, yeah, they were telepaths after all,” Jim recalled the way the shockwave had blown them all off their feet, felt less physically than mentally. Bones said the reason the rest of them hadn’t been as deeply affected was because they weren’t as psychically sensitive as Vulcans. That meant it had to be a psychic problem.

“Then maybe we can find another telepath to pull him out of this,” Jim said, turning from both his friends and marching out of sickbay. Bones wasn’t going to let him go that easily. He followed Jim, about to raise some kind of protest when Jim found the nearest wall comm and paged the bridge.

“Kirk to bridge.”

“Chekov here, Keptin.”

“Chekov, how soon can we get to Vulcan, maximum speed?”

“It would be…” Chekov took a moment to plug in the course. “Three days, sir.”

Jim turned back to Bones, “Can he last that long?” Bones must have sensed the desperation in Jim’s voice, because it looked as though he could not possibly tell Jim no.

“Maybe.”

Jim nodded, steeled for the task.

“Lay in the course Mister Chekov. Tell Mister Sulu full warp.”

“Aye Captain.”

“I’ll be in my quarters.”

He shut off the comm and set off again, towing Bones behind him.

“Jim,”

“Bones,” Jim whirled around, clearly hanging onto his resolve by a thread. The plea in his voice would’ve been apparent to anyone, especially his best friend. Bones backed off. If Jim needed to be alone, he’d allow it.

“Just don’t stay in there for three days,” he cautioned gruffly, and Jim forced a half-smile.

“Someone has to run the ship. I’ll be fine, Bones. I just need– I just need a moment.”

He left, and Leonard McCoy returned to sickbay, keeping as close an eye on Spock’s vitals as he could without knowing exactly what he was looking for.

 

——

 

Three days dragged by, but eventually they made it to their destination. Jim had spent the time getting permission through the proper channels, giving the admiralty no opportunity to decline. The general impression he gave off was that he would save his first officer’s life with their permission or he would steal the Enterprise and do it without. They clearly preferred the former option.

Spock’s condition had not improved, but it had only worsened by degrees. He had time, though how much was debatable.

Unwilling to waste a moment of it, Jim had also contacted Vulcan in advance, being directed to a few different doctors and spiritual leaders before getting in touch with Spock’s father.

Sarek was not Jim’s biggest fan, but he clearly had respect for him after the incident on board the ship the year before. He was grateful for that, because Sarek knew exactly what to do. Well, who to call at least.

By the man’s direction, as soon as they assumed standard orbit, Jim and Bones put Spock on a gurney and transported with him down to the planet. Though they’d beamed directly into Sarek and Amanda’s home, the atmosphere inside seemed no better than it would’ve been in the hot Vulcan daylight. Jim felt the weight of it pressing down on his lungs. His mouth immediately went dry. Looking at Bones beside him, over Spock’s gurney, he could tell the man felt the same.

Amanda immediately met them on the transporter pad, bringing Jim in for a hug first. She was as Jim remembered her, slight and soft-spoken with a quiet strength about her, a strength which wavered now at the sight of her son.

“Sarek has told me everything. Oh, Captain, we are worried sick.”

She pulled away from him and held him at arm’s length. Past her shoulder, he watched Sarek stand like a pillar, expressing no worry, though Jim knew Vulcans well enough at this point to know he was probably feeling it.

“Please tell me you have a solution,” Jim half-begged the both of them. Amanda moved off to the side, laying a hand on Bones’ shoulder and a hand on her son’s gurney.

“We do,” Sarek said solemnly, beckoning them into the room at large. “If you will follow me.”

The room that contained the transporter pad was more an entryway than anything else. It connected to a long hallway which led to the rest of the house. It was impressive, fitting for an ambassador’s family, though Jim found he could hardly admire it too much in his current emotional state. He wondered if Sarek was picking up on his fear, anguish, heartbreak. Jim felt as though he were projecting it.

If the Vulcan noticed, he said nothing, merely leading them into what would function, Jim supposed, as a living room, though it was stripped to the bare necessities. Immediately, Jim noticed two figures standing silently by the floor-length windows. Both were women, one much older, draped in black robes with a walking cane. The other was young, strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones, standing stock still as though she were a statue. For a moment, Jim would have believed she was.

Then the older woman began to move toward them, only the shuffle of her steps betraying her age.

“I am T’Pau.” She said, solemnly, and Jim gulped. He knew her name. He knew her legacy. He began to sweat.

Holding up the traditional Vulcan salute, Jim nodded to her nervously. “Thank you for being here, T’Pau,” he said, not betraying any of the curiosity he felt at her appearance. She was far too important for this, wasn’t she? Well, in his mind no one was too important to help Spock, but he was sure the Vulcans would share a different opinion.

“It will not take a long time,” she said in response, which somehow angered him. That was it? It wasn’t a huge inconvenience to save Spock? He felt Bones bristle beside him too, but he knew it was his job to maintain some semblance of calm.

“Good. What’s wrong with him?” he allowed some of his worry to leak through and felt the eyes of the mysterious young woman on him. She had not yet introduced herself.

“The mind has been severed from the body,” T’Pau said calmly, taking a stance beside Spock’s gurney and running a hand over his face without touching him directly. “All that is him still is, but must return to our world.”

Jim hated woo-woo talk. He knew science, he could fix anything with wires or pipes, but the spirit, the soul, those were mysteries he could never unravel. He hated that.

“Okay, that’s good right?” She noticed his impatience and nodded. He let out a breath. “Then how do we fix it?”

“Only the kiss of a bondmate will wake him, return him to the physical.”

Jim’s stomach sank. He looked to Bones with eyes that betrayed him, and Bones thinned his lips in response, nodding his silent understanding. Spock had never engaged in a romantic relationship with anyone, not since they’d known him. Jim knew, and Bones knew. This meant their chance was lost.

T’Pau, however, did not share Jim’s sentiment, nor did Spock’s parents. Sarek and Amanda stood a ways off, watching silently. They all seemed to know something the Starfleet officers didn’t.

“He doesn’t have a bondmate,” Jim said, looking around at them and wondering why this information didn’t seem to bother them. “Don’t you understand? He doesn’t have a bondmate. There’s nothing we can do.” His voice broke and T’Pau gave him a look that he could only describe as judgemental, though he was told Vulcans were incapable of that emotion.

Sure.

“He does have a bondmate,” the young woman spoke up from the Window, stepping forward delicately, carefully controlled, carrying herself as though she were made of glass, though Jim saw the steel in her eyes. “I am T’Pring.”

Jim didn’t know why, but that rock in his stomach didn’t lighten. In fact, something gripped at his heart as she came toward them and he hated himself for not being happier to hear that a bondmate did exist.

“You can’t be. He would have told us about you,” Jim said defensively, and T’Pring raised an eyebrow in a very familiar way.

“You sound so sure, Captain Kirk. We are not officially wed, yet we have been promised to each other since childhood. ‘Never and always touching and touched.’”

Now she was quoting some kind of poetry. Jim turned to Sarek and Amanda as if looking for confirmation. Amanda nodded reassuringly. “It’s true, Captain. That is why she is here.”

Jim swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew why this was hard for him to accept, had known for a long time before all this that he cared for Spock. Now, as he looked down at the man lying on the gurney, he wished he’d told him a long time ago, what he felt for him went so far beyond friendship, camaraderie, affection, and now it would be the love of another that saved him.

But, the important part was that it would save him.

“What do you need from us?” Jim braced himself as he said it, speaking both to T’Pring and T’Pau.

“First he must be comfortable. Bring him to the cushions.”

Jim glanced over by the window where an arrangement of floor pillows seemed to emulate a traditional couch. He nodded stiffly to Bones, who took Spock’s knees while Jim lifted him from the shoulders.

The laboriously lifted him to the cushions and set him down as gently as they could. Bones caught Jim’s eye as they rose to their feet, asking him silently if he was going to be all right. Bones had probably known longer than even Jim, was probably waiting for the day Jim admitted his feelings for Spock. Jim wished he’d found out the truth of it under better circumstances.

Jim shook his head, once, curt, telling Bones in no uncertain terms that he could not address this now. The man seemed to understand.

“Now what?” Jim asked as the rest of them joined them by the cushions. T’Pau motioned to T’pring with the flat of her hand.

“Now, the kiss. T’Pring.”

“Yes, T’Pau,” the woman said dutifully, striding over to Spock and setting herself gracefully beside him. Careful as though she were examining some kind of delicate science experiment, T’Pring took the closest of Spock’s hands, folding it into a two-fingered salute. Jim watched as she laid her fingers on top of his, closed her eyes and waited.

“When is she going to kiss him,” Jim whispered to Bones, momentarily forgetting the power of Vulcan hearing.

“She is kissing him, Captain Kirk,” T’Pau said, shooting him that look again.

Of course, he’d forgotten Vulcans had different ways of showing affection. “Well it’s not working.”

He knew he sounded like a child, but he’d watched the man he loved lie silent for three days, and he couldn’t stand the idea of waiting longer or allowing someone to touch him so intimately without reason.

“Maybe,” Bones piped up, shooting Jim an apologetic look before addressing T’Pring, “you need to kiss him in the human way. He is half human after all.” T’Pring opened her eyes and gave Bones a considering look.

“That is logical,” she agreed, and Jim almost winced when she adjusted her position and leaned down, placing a light kiss on Spock’s lips. She lingered there for a moment, then pulled away.

“I do not feel his katra,” she said, turning to T’Pau. “He will not come to me.”

Jim felt his heart clench. “What? Wait, you’re saying it’s not going to work?”

“Our bond may not yet be strong enough,” T’Pring said, giving the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug.

“That’s it?” Jim strode toward her, though she got to her feet and did not waver at his anger. “You’re telling me you were the one person who could possibly help him, and you’re just going to give up? Try again! Try harder! Try something else! You can’t care so little about him that you’d just leave him–”

“It is illogical to–”

“Do not give me that,” Jim said, bordering on hysterical. He felt Bones’ hands trying to grip his shoulders, but he shook him off. “Logic doesn’t always solve everything. I have spent too much time with Spock to buy that you all live and die by it, all right? Damn your logic if–”

The head of T’Pau’s cane came between them, and he felt himself being shoved backwards by it. Embarrassment flooded over him like ice cold water, and he met T’Pau’s eyes. Silence stretched between them.

“I apologize,” he said after a moment, addressing both of them. He heaved a breath. The suffocating air was not helping. “I just–”

“You care for your friend.” T’Pau said, and Jim saw something happening behind her eyes. “Very much.”

Jim nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I do.”

“Try,” T’Pau said simply, moving out of the way as she instructed T’Pring to do the same. Jim just stared at her blankly.

“Excuse me?”

“It is not uncommon for bonds to form between two compatible minds,” she said, “It is possible you have a strong enough link to bring him back to the physical world.”

Bones came up beside Jim, giving him a sideways look. Jim didn’t see him, didn’t even feel him because he was staring at Spock’s still form on the cushions in the bright red Vulcan sunlight streaming in from the window.

“Jim?” Bones said, prompting. Jim glanced at him, then back to T’Pau.

“I could try,” he said doubtfully. Though he knew his own affection for Spock was there, was in fact all-encompassing, he couldn’t imagine that Spock had formed that kind of bond with him. Still, anything was worth trying.

He moved to take T’Pring’s place by the pillows, settling down on his knees. He felt a bead of sweat slide down his neck and shivered in spite of the heat. So much rode on this one moment. If he failed, Spock would die and Jim would know once and for all that his feelings would never have been returned.

If it worked, well, Jim couldn’t bring himself to hope until it happened.

He first looked at Spock’s hand, still with two fingers extended, and he pressed his own fingertips against them. Then, for good measure, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spock’s as gently as he could, aware of all the eyes on him and trying not to focus on them.

He instead focused on Spock, on the vibrant life he was trying to bring back. The subtle jokes, the steely resolve, the overwhelming intelligence, kindness, understanding and curiosity that Jim admired so deeply. He thought of the first time they played chess together, and the last. He thought of the moment Spock had fallen unconscious, the fear he’d felt and how that fear had festered over the last few days.

Then, he felt something inside him telling that fear to ease. It was subtle at first, an impression, something soothing that started in his fingertips and spread to his pounding heart, to the weight in his stomach.

When the lips beneath his twitched, Jim drew back, a gasp breaking through, shock almost causing him to pull away completely. Almost.

Spock’s eyes were open, if bleary, and Jim felt his fingertips move against Jim’s. Spock’s weak voice said his name, and Jim almost choked.

The hand that wasn’t pressed to Spock’s came to rest on the crown of the man’s head, fingers curling through silky strands of dark hair. He brought himself back to Spock’s lips, desperate in his desire to touch, to taste, to know that Spock was here to stay.

Spock, though clearly weak, pressed his lips to Jim’s just as fervently, lacing their fingers together of his own accord as they both breathed happy sighs into each others’ mouths.

Jim laughed in pure relief, pressing his forehead to Spock’s as their lips parted.

“She said– I thought it wasn’t even possible–and your bondmate couldn’t even bring you out of it, and–”

Jim stopped when Spock’s hand came up to cup his cheek, quiet words following. “ _You_ are my bondmate.”

Jim huffed out a breathless laugh, “you couldn’t have told me sooner?” but there was no real malice in the words. He couldn’t resist taking Spock’s lips in another kiss, softer this time.

Someone, very likely Bones, cleared their throat.

Eventually Jim managed to pull himself away, but it was no easy task. He left a hand on Spock’s chest, as if to reassure himself that there was still breath in those lungs, a heartbeat pounding steadily from his side.


	6. Friendly Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: A platonic kiss that isn't so platonic
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: T/PG-13 probably?
> 
> Universe: AOS (Reboot, etc.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAnnnnnd another oldie. I've forgotten all of these "kiss" prompts!

 

After four years together, it was a shock to everyone when Spock and Uhura parted (on apparently amicable terms). **  
**

There was no public display, no big fight. In fact, they still spent a lot of time together. Jim had been through his share of breakups, had been the one to cut ties enough times to know that no matter how it ended, it had to be terrible, but he could not get Spock to admit to it to save his life.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He asked for the hundredth time over chess a week later, assessing his friend’s response with a well-practiced eye. Spock showed no signs of distress.

“Yes, Jim,” Spock said calmly as he always did. “The decision was mutual and expected, and we still consider each other friends. I am in a perfectly adequate emotional state.”

Spock had at least graduated from pretending he had no emotions to just acknowledging that he was very good at getting over them.

“Fine,” Jim said, taking Spock’s queen and giving his friend a pointed look, “but I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“I am aware,” Spock responded with a half-smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

That concern took a long time to fade away, and he could tell it was actually starting to get to Bones, who felt the brunt of it. He endured so many “How can Spock possibly be all right”s and “Do you think he’s hiding anything”s that by the time Jim stopped obsessing over it Bones actually brought it up himself, asking if Jim was all right considering he hadn’t brought up Spock in days.

But Jim had let it go, figuring if Spock hadn’t had an emotional breakdown yet, he was in good shape. It was weird, but he had known the Vulcan long enough to know that weird was kind of par for the course.

Then time proved to him he should not have let his guard down.

 

—–

 

They were assigned shore leave, and the day of The Incident was the first chance the crew had had to get some duty-free leisure time in months. The majority of them beamed down straightaway, command crew included, and Jim had convinced Bones and Spock to meet him at one of the station’s restaurants for a genuine non-replicated meal.

Bones had some last-minute business to wrap up, so Jim and Spock started without him, settling into the booth and ordering their drinks. They spoke idly about the repairs that the ship was going to undergo while they were docked, their plans for the down-time. It wasn’t until Spock’s eyes wandered to a point past Jim’s shoulder that Jim stopped talking.

He turned, spotting two officers seated behind them. The one facing them was clearly Uhura, smiling and laughing. The one with his back turned looked like Scotty, which became evident when he laughed loudly at something she’d said. Scotty extended a hand and Uhura took it, smile blooming wider in a look that was really unmistakable.

Jim whipped back to Spock, eyes wide.

“Oh,” he said, and Spock’s eyes returned to his. He was betraying no emotion, but he had to be feeling it, right? His ex was moving on, and she looked really happy, and here Spock was having lunch with Jim of all people. “Are you okay?”

“Jim,” Spock said, betraying a bit of exasperation which may well have been a sign of emotional turmoil. “I am fine. Lieutenant Uhura has previously expressed an interest in Mister Scott. I am pleased for her.”

Jim didn’t buy it. Not for a second. And he was Spock’s friend– maybe his best friend. He had to do something.

In a moment of blind compassion, he laid his hand over Spock’s on the table, gripping it to show his support. “Spock–”

Spock drew his hand away immediately, jerking away from Jim’s touch like he’d been burned by it. His eyes were blown open, cheeks flushed bright green and his mouth set in a straight, hard line. Jim didn’t know what he’d done, but he held up his hands in defense.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“I must go,” Spock said, and stood without a second thought. He sped out of the restaurant like he was moments away from breaking into a run. Jim followed him, forgetting about their drinks. His eyes were so focused on the quickly retreating blue uniform that he didn’t even notice the one he ran into.

“Jesus, Jim!” Bones grabbed him by his shoulders after they collided and Jim tore his eyes from Spock’s back to look at his friend.

“Sorry, Bones, I have to catch up to him–”

He tried ducking out of Bones’ grip, but the man held firm.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! I don’t think!”

“With you that could mean anything!”

“That’s why I have to talk to him! Just give me a second okay? I’ll come right back.” This time, he effectively broke Bones’ grip, rushing past him.

“In a pig’s eye!” Bones shouted behind him, but Jim hardly heard. He scanned the crowd of people on the station, looking for Spock and finding nothing.

Odds were he’d returned to the ship, so Jim made his way through the crowd and to the transporter pad.

When he returned, the transporter technician gave him a suspicious look.

“Did Mister Spock beam aboard a moment ago?”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Yes, sir.”

He rushed out the door, half-jogging to Spock’s quarters so as not to seem too frantic in front of the crew. He had no idea what he’d done to cause that outburst. Was it that Spock was upset over Uhura, and Jim had pushed too hard to get him to admit to it? Maybe it was the touch. Spock wasn’t the most touchy-feely person Jim knew, but they’d been exchanging companionable pats on the back for four years now. It should’ve been fine, right?

He arrived at Spock’s quarters and pressed the comm for the door, realizing too late that Spock could just refuse to let him in.

It seemed as though the Vulcan considered that option, because it was almost a full minute before the doors swished open and Jim strode inside. Spock was standing by the door controls, face impassive.

When the door closed, Jim realized he’d been so focused on catching up to Spock, he hadn’t thought of what he’d say when he caught him.

“I–” he started, stalled, started again. “Care to tell me why you ran off like that?” He put on his best Captain voice, for all the good it would do.

Spock seemed to be trying very hard to hold himself back from something. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his jaw was set tight. He focused on Jim’s face with an intensity in his eyes that reminded Jim of a very unpleasant encounter on the bridge, many years before. Spock hadn’t looked at him like that since his hands had been around Jim’s throat. Not the best memory to return to while they were alone in a room together.

Jim swallowed.

Spock finally spoke. “You acted very inappropriately,” he said with some edge to his words.

Jim gaped. “By asking if you were all right? I do that all the time. Was it because it was in public?”

Spock’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. “You do not realize what you did, do you?”

It took Jim a lot of effort to not to roll his eyes. “Clearly, or I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot.”

Spock’s shoulders relaxed very slightly and he turned away, walking absentmindedly to the center of the room. Jim was cautious enough not to follow.

“When you placed your hand on mine– that is the equivalent of a Vulcan kiss,” Spock looked tired. “A very intimate kiss.”

Jim paled. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

It could have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Spock wince. “I see you did not intend the action in the way it was perceived. You may go. I must meditate.”

That was a very clear signal for Jim to leave, but Spock had just dropped a bomb on him and Jim had about ten mysteries left to solve.

“So, wait, you thought I kissed you on purpose,” Jim felt a skip in his heart at the thought, but stilled it. “And you were mad because–”

“I believed it was your intention to help me ‘get back’ at Lieutenant Uhura. I see now that I was mistaken. You may leave,” he said it again, with more strength behind it this time, but Jim moved toward him instead.

“So why are you mad now? I mean, it was just a mistake, right? So what’s the problem?”

Spock gripped his wrists behind his back, standing straighter as Jim approached.

“It is not logical,” Spock said stiffly.

Jim didn’t have much patience left for logic, but he tried, waiting for Spock to continue.

After a few moments of silence, he did. “I am feeling anger because the gesture was not intentional,” Spock finally said, quickly as though ripping of a bandage.

“But you were angry because you thought it was intentional, too. I don’t get it,” Jim said, helplessly attempting to understand what Spock was saying.

“It was the intention behind the action that initially caused my reaction.”

“So you’re saying that if I kissed you on purpose because I wanted to kiss you, then… then you wouldn’t be angry.”

“No.”

“Is that your roundabout Vulcan way of saying you want me to kiss you?” Jim felt something warm settling in his chest at the thought, and kicked himself for it. He’d long ago stamped down any non-platonic feelings he’d had for Spock, and now was not the time for them to rear their hopeful head.

“Yes.”

For a second, Jim thought he’d imagined the response. He stood staring, mouth agape, long enough for Spock to apparently decide this was the incorrect response.

“I request that you put the entirety of this conversation from your mind,” he said, words clipped. “I require time to meditate if you will please leave my quarters immediately.”

Jim was waiting for his body to catch up to his brain, saw Spock’s agitation at his silence growing, but as Spock approached, seemingly to force Jim out the door, Jim reached between them and grabbed Spock’s hand.

Spock stopped in his tracks, the veneer of control he’d maintained melting from his expression. Jim threaded their fingers together and stepped closer, feeling a spark of energy where their hands touched. It sent something humming through him, an excitement he hadn’t felt in a very long time, longer than he cared to admit.

Breathless, Spock spoke, “Captain, if your intention is to provoke me, or to mock me–”

“Come on, Spock, do you really think I’m that bad?” Jim brought their linked hands up to chest height, beginning to stroke Spock’s fingers absently, attempting to be reassuring.

Spock shuddered very pleasantly, the energy where their skin was touching becoming charged, fiery, almost– lustful, which Jim was sure wasn’t coming from him. Well, until he caught Spock’s darkly intense eyes. Jim couldn’t help the thrill of anticipation that shot through him at the look.

His lips broke into a wide, self-satisfied grin, but he pulled their hands apart, “I should probably learn how to do that properly,” he joked a little desperately, but Spock didn’t laugh.

“On the contrary, Jim,” he said, and Jim was pleased he’d abandoned ‘Captain’ for now. “You were doing… very well.”

Jim sidled a little closer, a playful lilt to his voice. “Too well, Mister Spock?” He snaked his hands around Spock’s neck and pulled their bodies together, enjoying the nearly imperceptible sharp intake of breath from his first officer.

He was far too pleased when all Spock could manage was a choked “Indeed.”

 

—-

 

More than an hour later, the two walked side-by-side into the restaurant, shoulders brushing on every step, Jim occasionally daring to extend a finger toward Spock’s hand. Every time he did, Spock gave him an indulgent look and met the touch.

Bones was sitting at the bar alone, and he gave them his patented death glare the moment he caught them.

“‘I’ll come right back,’” he mocked when Jim took a stool beside him and Spock settled beside Jim. “Been waiting an hour, had three scotches– what were the two of you playing at?”

Jim just smiled, “Oh, just a science lesson,” he said, and Bones raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, biology.”

Spock took in a deep breath beside him, what would have been a sigh if he’d been capable of it.

Bones clearly was not following.

“Vulcan biology,” Jim clarified, waving down the bartender. “Spock’s a very thorough teacher,” he added with a wink.

The color drained from Bones’ face.

“God Damnit, Jim.”


	7. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: More than one kiss
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kiss prompt. Shit I wrote a lot of these? Hahaaaaa.

 

 ****Whenever Spock’s lips sucked that delicious dip at Jim’s collarbone, Jim could not be held responsible for his own response. Whether it be the verbal keening, the frantic hands on the back of Spock’s head and neck holding him in place, the leg he shoved between Spock’s, trying to get as much touch from the moment as he could– all of it was a direct reflex, and Spock knew that, the bastard.

So with Jim’s back against the door where he had, at one point, attempted to exit his quarters, he was trapped, though entirely by his own doing. Spock’s tongue flicked out to circle the mark he’d left just below Jim’s uniform shirt, then he raised his head to Jim’s and took his mouth in a brutal kiss.

Jim loved the way Spock kissed him like this. His lips soothed where his teeth scraped, and he ran his tongue along the back of Jim’s teeth, earning a very anticipatory shudder.

Hands wandering over Spock’s chest, Jim tried to get the wherewithal to push him away, but it was hard. He’d so happily go another round if time allowed, but they had only just gotten dressed and he could hardly believe he was the one raising protests about punctuality here.

“Spock,” he gasped when Spock pulled away for air. “Stop,” He wanted to be more diplomatic about it, but he could tell Spock was already getting ready to swoop back in and he had to make it quick. Spock stilled, brow furrowed. He seemed to force his hands back to his sides, slipping them from under Jim’s uniform shirt as Jim caught his breath.

“We’re already late,” Jim said, still trying to regain his mental faculties, and the lines on Spock’s forehead smoothed a bit, “we can’t…”

“Allow this to interfere with our duties, correct,” Spock finished, and Jim couldn’t help smiling at the strain in his voice. Spock tugged on his uniform to straighten it, and Jim reached out to smooth out his hair.

Jim had been in plenty of relationships that started this way and he knew it would eventually even out– eventually. But after only a few days, they were having a difficult time keeping their hands off each other.

It was a challenge to hide it from the crew like this, too. They’d agreed to give it time before they told anyone, though Jim was just waiting for the day Bones caught sight of a hickey peeking out of his collar.

They took a few moments to regain control and straighten themselves up, Jim chuckling when Spock reached over and pushed Jim’s hair back into its signature swoosh, taking time to ensure not a lock was out of place. When they did leave Jim’s quarters, it was as calmly and professionally as if they’d just had a meeting. Jim was pretty proud of that, at least, it’s not like the crew knew the kind of debauchery they’d gotten up to recently.

There may have been a moment in the turbolift where they shot glances at each other, almost daring the other to command the lift to stop and continue where they left off, but neither of them acted on the impulse. They were professionals, and the second they stepped out of Jim’s quarters, they committed to that.

 

—-

 

Except a few hours later, Jim was the one shoving Spock against a door. The other senior officers had just left the briefing room, off to whatever duties Jim had assigned them, but of course he had to keep his first officer behind for, well, extra briefing.

It was Spock’s turn to protest when Jim’s lips found his, clearly leading to more than a quick midday makeout. Though that much was also obvious from what Jim was saying. In the breaths between the desperate cloying of lips, he was obscene. “Can’t stop thinking about you bending me over this table, c’mon, please.”

Of course, all things considered it took a few minutes for Spock to actually begin protesting, first lifting Jim onto the table, slotting himself between Jim’s legs, deepening the kiss with a hand on the back of Jim’s head.

It wasn’t until Jim began tugging at the hem of Spock’s shirt, nails scraping skin, that Spock came to his senses.

“Jim,” he choked out as Jim began trailing kisses along his neck, “we are still on duty.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” Jim replied playfully, reaching between them and cupping Spock’s obvious erection. “Besides, it’s almost lunch. Let’s call this our break and we can just have a big dinner later.”

“That would be unwise,” Spock eked out, clearly with effort.

Jim dropped his forehead onto Spock’s chest, groaning his disappointment. “Yes, it would, Mister Spock. Like having sex in the briefing room would be unwise, right?”

“Another potentially poor decision, yes.”

There was a long, heavy pause where they began to catch their breath. Jim pulled his hands away to steady himself on the table. Spock set his own hands to soothing, gently stroking the skin under the hem of Jim’s shirt.

The touch was not meant to ignite, but he brushed the soft hairs at the base of Jim’s belly, traced the line where the slightly-too-tight waistband of his uniform pants puckered the pudge, and Jim jumped, pulled Spock’s hands away.

“Okay, enough of that then,” he said with finality, and Spock obliged. He was starting to learn all the little places that really got to Jim, and the belly was easily one of them. It would be unfair to take advantage of that knowledge.

When Spock stepped away, Jim lowered himself from the table, trying to think of anything to distract himself from what he really wanted to be doing right now. Or what he wanted being done to him.

“Okay,” he said again.

“Indeed.”

“I don’t think we should leave just yet, though.”

“Certainly not the best idea.”

Jim was getting very tired of controlling his boners and it had only been a half a day.

 

—-

 

They managed to avoid the temptation of the turbolift on the way to lunch, and on the way back. In fact, they managed to avoid temptation for most of the day. Jim pointedly refused to look at Spock’s ass bent over the science station, and Spock barely met Jim’s eyes the remainder of the shift.

So when they finally had the freedom, they practically raced back to Jim’s quarters, walking as quick as they could while maintaining some semblance of professional decorum. “I think we’ve earned a reward, don’t you, Mister Spock?” Jim asked nonchalantly.

“I fail to see how completing our daily duties without incident is worthy of reward, Captain,” Spock replied, and Jim grinned. No one else would’ve been able to read that undercurrent of playfulness in Spock’s tone, and Jim was inordinately proud of himself for hearing it. Spock’s eyes caught his with that light in them. Jim’s heart fluttered.

They reached the door and he punched in the code.

“Well, given what we were up against–” Jim started as they walked in, but he never got to finish.

The second the door closed behind them, Spock turned and pressed Jim’s back to the cool metal, reprising the morning’s scene. Jim forgot entirely what he was saying when Spock’s lips brushed his.

“I believe, Captain, you are the only one ‘up against’ anything.”

Jim shuddered.

This time, Jim’s shirt was the first thing to go. Spock had clearly tried and failed enough times to get him undressed today that he’d set his priorities. He took a moment to admire his handiwork from earlier, the red spot of skin at Jim’s collar before diving down and licking a line up the center of Jim’s chest.

Jim thunked his head against the door behind him, closing his eyes in relief as he threaded a hand through Spock’s hair. When Spock came back up to claim his lips, he also wound his arms around Jim’s waist, turning him and walking him backwards toward the bed as they stumbled through clumsy kisses and wandering hands.

The back of Jim’s knees hit the bed and he fell backward, grinning up at Spock like a loon. Spock stood there for a moment as though surveying him, tracing every line and curve of Jim’s body with his eyes before kneeling by the edge of the bed and running his hands lightly along the waistband of Jim’s slacks.

Jim wiggled, half because the sensation was tickling him and half because it was incredibly arousing. He had been delighted to find out Spock was a bit of a tease, even when Jim knew he was aching for it.

Spock unzipped Jim’s slacks and ran a line of nips and licks from bellybutton to groin. Jim let out a noise that betrayed his desire, almost a whimper, and he saw Spock’s eyes smile, He’d always been a little self-conscious about his midsection, always worried that the bit of pudge he could never seem to shed would be a turnoff, but Spock seemed absolutely enamored with it.

So Jim couldn’t exactly complain when he abandoned his trail to Jim’s erection in order to scrape the skin of Jim’s stomach with his teeth.Well, at first he couldn’t complain.

Then, the console by his bed beeped, and he felt like a bucket of ice had just been dumped on the both of them.

Spock stilled, meeting Jim’s eyes as though telling– not asking– telling him not to answer.

“Spock,” Jim practically groaned, “We can’t…”

“Allow this to interfere with our duties,” Spock replied with more exasperation than Jim even knew he was capable of. “Of course.”

Jim sat up and Spock moved off him, doing the Vulcan equivalent of a pout as he set himself on the edge of the bed.

“Kirk here,” he said as he mashed the button. He managed to sound remarkably put-together, given the circumstances (though he also certainly sounded annoyed).

“Transmission from Starfleet, Captain,” Uhura said over the comm, “Admiral Komack. He requests to speak with you personally.”

“Urgently?” Jim asked, and maybe Uhura heard the hopefulness in his voice.

“Yes, Captain– sorry.”

“No, no need to apologize. Tell him I need a few moments.”

He disconnected and shot Spock an apologetic look. Jim joined him at the edge of the bed and ran his finger along Spock’s knuckles.

“I need to–”

“I am aware, and it is quite all right,” Spock said, strained. “However, I request that you notify me the moment you are finished.”

Jim scoffed, standing to retrieve his uniform shirt. “Trust me,” he said over his shoulder. “At this rate I’ll just burst into your quarters naked if it’ll get you on me faster.”

Spock also stood, joining Jim by the door. “While I would not be adverse to the idea, the crew may raise some concerns about you roaming the halls naked.”

Jim laughed and placed his hands on the sides of Spock’s face, bringing him in for a chaste kiss. No tongue, no teeth, just the gentle press of lips and a soft exhale as they pulled apart.

Spock reached between them and, with a pointed (and pointedly amused) look, zipped up Jim’s slacks.”I trust the Admiral’s message will be worth the interruption,” Spock said in farewell.

Jim replied with a muttered “doubt it” before Spock nodded and left. The door swished closed behind him.

Jim went to his desk as he pulled on his shirt and let out one of those heavy sighs borne of massive inconvenience. Opening the channel, he put on his best Captain face, almost thankful that nothing killed an erection like the good Admiral.


	8. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: A supernatural kiss
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the kiss prompts! I wrote this one for my lovely wife. <3

 

Spock was not a selfish person. The needs of the many always outweighed the needs of the few– that was a basic pillar of his beliefs, and he only ever acted in his own self-interest when that interest was shared.

Except when he didn’t.

It started as an accident, which was the only way he was able to excuse it. He’d fallen unconscious on an away mission, knocked out by a particularly powerful blow from a particularly powerful primitive alien. As a Vulcan, even his unconscious mind continued working in myriad ways, so he was aware to an extent, but only aware that he was out cold. At some point, the Captain had been knocked out as well.

Spock had felt it in his state, the ripple effect from Jim’s thoughts going blank echoing around his own skull. Though he could not control his mind, he felt himself instinctively reaching out for that connection the two had formed through all these years of friendship, instinctively trying to touch Jim across their link for reassurance that he was all right.

In an attempt to understand the phenomenon himself, he described it later in his personal logs as a palette of watercolors. His own mind had spread out from him and seeped into Jim’s, seeking mental contact. When Jim had started to stir, it was as though his spirit became alight. Their “colors” blended together as only a mind-meld could typically achieve, and it had actually shocked Spock into wakefulness.

He’d kept a careful eye on the captain for days following, partly because Jim had suffered a head injury that could prove to have lasting effects and partly because Spock did not know if Jim had sensed Spock’s mind within his own, or if he would be offended at the intrusion.

But the captain did not exhibit any unusual behavior, and Spock concluded that Jim thought nothing had happened, which was certainly for the best.

Spock knew that to enter a person’s mind without permission was a violation, except in times of crisis, and he regretted that he had not had better control over his unconscious thoughts.

And yet, he could not stop thinking about the feeling of encountering Jim’s mental energy. They had never melded before, and Spock had been shocked at the sheer power of Jim’s mind, or perhaps at the power of the connection that allowed him to feel it uninhibited.

If he could admit to the emotions, he would say he had been overcome with a sense of awe, curiosity, affection, pride and, perhaps most shamefully, joy. Joy because he’d never felt more connected to anything than he had in that moment, and it had only been an accidental occurrence.

In his privacy he could admit to the emotions, try as he might to mitigate them through meditation. He found it seldom worked.

In fact, meditation exacerbated the situation in the end.

The second time he touched Jim’s mind, it was because he was attempting not to think about him. It was illogical, but he felt his katra drifting during one night’s meditation as it had when he’d been unconscious, naturally seeking– something. He (or, his spirit) had traveled before, but never with such purpose. By the time Spock understood exactly what it was seeking, he found he had little motivation to pull it back. The urge was strong, to explore the energy he’d only had a second to touch before, to fold himself into it and let the light drown him. In a moment of weakness, he gave into the temptation.

He found Jim’s sleeping mind and slipped into it, immediately afraid that his physical reaction to the feeling would pull him out. He felt his body gasp, felt his heart clench, but he forced his thoughts to remain with Jim’s.

Even sleeping, his captain’s soul shined. Spock sensed a pulsing light, and he indulged in a momentary flight of fancy that it was pulsing in time with Jim’s steady breaths, that across the corridor Jim was laying in bed peacefully. He hoped the man wasn’t psychically aware enough to sense the mind exploring his own, to sense the wonderment and serenity that Spock knew he was exuding.

After lingering far too long, he pulled himself back, shame rising where the euphoria of connecting minds fell.

He’d done the equivalent of kissing his captain while the man slept, taking advantage of his unconsciousness in a way that was thoroughly abhorrent to Spock.

He vowed that night never to do it again, never indulge in his own selfishness.

The vow lasted for a while, though every time he saw Jim (which was often) he would think about the way the meld had felt. He’d watch his captain smile while they were on the bridge– usually at some quip from Ensign Chekov– and think about how Jim’s mind in that moment must feel like sunlight. He would sit across from him playing chess and swear he could feel Jim’s thoughts moving in patterns like the trails of honeybees. He would watch Jim speak to someone, anyone else, and feel an almost irrational jealousy that they were enveloped (however slightly) in that warmth he knew he was not allowed to feel.

And then, nearly a month later, the captain beamed down to an uncharted planet’s surface just before an ion storm hit. He knew the risks, but refused to leave crewmen from the earlier away mission down there alone, lost to the Enterprise’s sensors. At least he would have supplies, he said as he packed them. At least he would have a tracking beacon. At least the Enterprise could find them when the storm cleared.

Spock almost refused to let him go, but the captain had made a logical argument.

After three hours on the bridge, Lieutenant Uhura joined Spock at the science station. He’d abandoned the captain’s chair after a short time, preferring instead to monitor every fluctuation in the storm, but he did not know his behavior had been erratic until Uhura approached him.

“He’s going to be all right, Mister Spock,” Uhura said, her usual picture of composure. Spock looked up from his readings.

“Naturally. The captain is highly resourceful.”

“It’s all right to say you’re worried,” she said, voice lowered so the rest of the bridge crew didn’t hear. “We’re all worried.”

“Worry is a human emotion,” he replied, tucking his hands behind his back and standing straighter. But he knew in his heart that worry was one of many human emotions he could, and did, feel– like affection, like awe, like despair.

“I will return momentarily,” he said after a pause, avoiding Uhura’s eyes. “Mister Sulu, you have the conn.”

Sulu confirmed as Spock entered the turbolift, commanding it to his deck. The storm showed no signs of slowing, which meant no communication, no transporters, nothing to assure him that Jim and the away team were all right.

So he retreated to his quarters and set out his meditation mat, sinking to it in a single practiced motion. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and gathered his energy. Perhaps it was the nerves that made his own mind buzz, restless with agitation, the need to do something, to fix a problem. He wanted to find Jim.

Spock knew the promise he’d made himself, but this felt like a crisis. Beside the fact, if Jim was alive, he was awake down there. He would be able to feel Spock’s katra, be able to reject it if he wanted to, or at least convey the thought that he wanted to. Should that happen, Spock would retreat, at least knowing that Jim was all right.

He envisioned the walls around his consciousness falling, sinking. Like a great dam breaking, all that was him spilled out of himself, and he set it to its single purpose. Perhaps it was the strong connection that he had with Jim as a person, as a friend,  that made it easier to direct his thoughts toward him.

Suddenly his spirit was flowing out the hull of the Enterprise, following a trail of transporter energy from the ship to the surface. He slipped along it like a leaf in a stream, sensing rather than seeing the great waves of energy that made up the ion storm. He slid through them easily.

As Spock sank into the planet’s atmosphere, he felt nitrogen and oxygen atoms begin to flick past him faster than anyone in any physical body could perceive. He seldom experienced the world like this, preferring to keep his spirit within, but it was truly astounding to feel.

He refocused his energy and felt himself on the planet’s surface, momentarily relieved that he knew which way to go. Something was pulling him now, and it was close by. It was like a beacon, shining against the black backdrop of Spock’s mind. Though he could see nothing, he felt Jim’s light and knew that if it could be seen it would be in hues of gold. It would be glowing. He raced toward it, bodiless, and allowed himself to soak in the warmth that enveloped him as he neared.

“Jim.”

He heard himself say it aloud, knew his physical body was back in his quarters sitting on the floor, but he was speaking to that feeling that surrounded him, speaking into the light.

He sensed absentminded distraction, and his voice was brushed aside as though Jim had waved away a bothersome bug. It wasn’t strong enough.

Spock gathered his energy and said Jim’s name once more.

The light flickered in recognition, and Spock knew, could feel that Jim was thinking of him, was laughing at himself for imagining that he could feel Spock.

Spock tried again, this time saying aloud as he projected it, “Jim, are you safe?” He flooded these words with concern, with hope and fear, with each emotion he told himself he was not feeling.

Jim responded with a pause, then recognition, then confusion.

The light retreated, and for the first time Spock realized there were others surrounding Jim, likely the away team. Their souls made no sound, echoed no warmth, not like Jim’s. Spock followed the line of Jim’s energy as it broke away from the others.

He felt Jim thinking his name, almost heard him say “Spock?” in his own mind.

Spock projected a confirmation, and felt Jim, against all odds, receive it.

“How is this possible?” Jim seemed to ask, confusion without fear, a desire to understand. He truly had an explorer’s heart.

Spock’s walls were down, and controlling the impressions he sent was hard, but he tried to narrow the focus of his thoughts to one single point, “I was worried about you,” he said, hearing the unfamiliar words stumble on his own lips though the emotion came through loud and clear to Jim.

There was a moment’s pause, and Jim’s light expanded, a mix of emotions Spock could not identify pulling him in, encircling him, holding him the way a person would hold another to soothe them.

And Spock felt it, felt the calm seep into him, the affection and that unnameable emotion which permeated his mind. Jim seemed to be saying “don’t worry, I’m alright” just as he was saying “thank you for worrying, thank you for caring so much.”

Spock wanted to be absorbed into that feeling, to become a part of Jim’s soul so he could constantly feel his warmth like this. He wanted it so desperately he didn’t think to stop himself from feeling it, projecting it even, but the shame he felt at admitting to this desire began to spill over, poisoning his thoughts.

Jim felt it, felt everything, in fact, and his light pulsed with force. Spock felt his chest tighten physically, and he knew he was running out of energy, knew the connection could only last so long over this distance. He wanted to apologize for wanting, but Jim’s message came through first.

Jim projected his own impressions, his own desires that mirrored Spock’s. Where Spock craved the meeting of their minds, Jim had been craving the meeting of their lips and would have given anything to feel what he was feeling now if he’d known it was even possible.

Within those waves of thought, a sense of joy that could have belonged to either of them, or to both, began to bloom, just as Spock felt himself slipping away. He reached toward Jim’s soul until the last, until a gasp of breath shot through his lungs and his eyes blew open. He was no longer on the planet’s surface, or inside the shine of Jim’s mind, but he was back in his quarters. He did not know how much time had passed.

Jumping to his feet, he went to the computer on his desk. He was only able to get a basic systems readout here, but the status of the ion storm was unchanged. He must not have been meditating very long.

When Spock returned to the bridge, he was calm, stoic, even reassuring in his confidence.

The storm would pass, he thought as he took a seat in the captain’s chair, and Jim would survive as he always did. He would return to the ship, to Spock. They would not have to talk about the meld (though Spock wanted to) because each knew, intimately now, the thoughts of the other.

Spock’s wants had been validated, and blissfully reciprocated, so he allowed himself one more selfish desire; he wanted Jim to come home.


	9. Blind Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Blind date
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Universe: Academy AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, last of the oldies! (at least, last of the oldies that I'm planning on posting!) More to come once I write them, I suppose. Got a T'Pura prompt waiting in the wings to write. :D

 

Jim fiddled with the straw in his drink, twirling the ice cubes around and making a little whirlpool, telling himself he wasn’t fidgeting. But, obviously he could only lie to himself so much, and he’d been sitting there definitely fidgeting for almost a half hour.

Only desperate people showed up to blind dates this early, but Jim _was_ just a little desperate. If only because he had no idea what to expect.

Bones had been dropping enigmatic hints to the nature of this date for a week now, and Jim had started to lose patience. “You _can_ tell me who it is, or what they’re like,” he’d said. “The blind part just means we don’t know each other yet.”

But Bones had kept his lips sealed. “Not this time. It’s a surprise,”  was all he’d said.

Since they were roommates and shared a few classes together, Jim had almost 24 hours a day to pester and wheedle, but Bones had remained steadfast, not even telling Jim the gender (or non gender) of the person.

Which led Jim to believe that he did know this mystery date, at least somewhat. Or there was no way keeping it secret would be that important.

Jim leaned back in his chair, scanning the little restaurant for someone who looked as lost as he did. Everyone else was sequestered in booths with their partners, or drinking at the bar with friends. He sighed.

Then, the door past the host booth opened, and Jim looked away the second he recognized the person. Not today. Of all days, here of all places. If he wanted the Vulcan in his science courses to look down on him, all he had to do was partner with him on a project. He did not need the guy to witness him on a blind date.

He risked a glance back toward the front and, to his surprise and horror, Spock began to take purposeful strides in his direction.

“Cadet Kirk,” Spock said by way of greeting as he approached, and Jim’s heart skipped. He actually knew his name. “May I?”

He gestured to the seat across from Jim, who was a little too stunned to say no. He was waiting for someone, but he forgot about the date for a second.

“Oh, sure.”

Spock sat. There was a second of silence.

“Um,” Jim started, sitting up a little straighter to mirror his counterpart. “What brings you to this part of town?” It was a lame question, but definitely a point of curiosity.

Spock raised an eyebrow, and he actually looked… confused.

“I–” Spock stopped midsentence, something Jim had never seen him do, though they didn’t know each other that well. “You extended the invitation,” Spock finally said.

Jim blinked. “I what?”

“I received a message,” Spock said, stiff and uncomfortable. “From you, incidentally. You requested–”

A server, the same sweet Andorian girl who’d greeted Jim, came by and interrupted Spock, though he seemed relieved that he had more time to think. Jim certainly was.

“Hi there, my name’s Leel and I’ll be your server today! Well, this one knows that,” she winked in Jim’s direction. “He’s been here for almost a half hour!”

Jim almost put his face in his hands, but restrained himself.

“What can I get you?”

Spock glanced at Jim, then back to her. “Nothing at present. Thank you.”

Something in his tone must have been off-putting, because Leel smiled nervously and her antennae twitched. “Sure thing. I’ll be back, kay?”

They both mumbled a thank-you as she left and Jim turned expectantly back to Spock. It took a moment, but the Vulcan continued.

“You requested I meet you here. For– well. There has clearly been a misunderstanding. I will take my leave.”

Spock began to stand, and Jim put a hand flat on the table, “Wait, wait. For a date?”

Lowering himself slowly back into the chair, Spock blinked, suspicious. “Yes.”

“I asked you on a date and you said yes?” It felt like a hot air balloon had just started rising in Jim’s chest. He felt his lips begin to smile, in spite of himself.

“Do you suffer from memory loss?” Spock’s tone very well could have been read as sarcastic, and Jim almost laughed.

“No, no, it’s just… I think my friend sent that message.” Bones had access to all of Jim’s things, including his communicator. The bastard.

“Then it was a prank?” Spock’s eyes narrowed, “I see.”

“What? No, not on you at least!” Jim scratched his head nervously. “He was probably trying to do me a favor, though it would’ve been nice if he’d told me as much.”

Jim felt so awkward saying any of this aloud. Spock was older than him, infinitely more proficient in their classes (though Jim thought himself pretty smart) and also cool as a cucumber. Nothing fazed him. Jim just assumed all this time that there was no chance, but Spock had said yes.

This seemed to mollify Spock slightly, though he certainly didn’t offer much. “I am not quite sure I understand. Your friend is the one who requested my presence here tonight, on your behalf?”

“Well I didn’t exactly ask him to, but essentially yeah. He was probably sick of me talking about you.” Jim stopped himself there, eyes growing wide. This time, he _did_ put his face in his hands. “Okay, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Spock didn’t say anything at first, which Jim did not think was a good sign, but just as the Vulcan opened his mouth, the server returned.

“Did you get a chance to decide?” She said, a little less obtrusively than before.

“Tea, please,” Spock said, and Jim looked at him. He was staying? That was a miracle.

“You got it,” she said with a smile and tottered off.

Jim decided he’d just ask. “So you’re staying?”

“We are on a date, are we not? I believe it would be considered rude to leave now.” Spock’s shoulders seemed to have loosened up. This was too surreal.

“Yeah. We’re on a date.” The reality hit him and Spock looked at him with concern. “But, I mean, don’t get me wrong. Why did you say yes? You hardly know me.”

Spock leaned back in his chair, considering.

“On the contrary, I have frequently observed you in our shared classes. You are enthusiastic about the sciences, considerate to others, and you try very hard to master areas of study. I find that quite admirable. Your invitation, or, rather your friend’s invitation, was flattering. It was an honor to think you might have interest in me.”

Jim felt his face flush, and he immediately kicked himself for it. He didn’t know if it was the fact that Spock admitted to observing him or if it was the word “admirable” that got to him, but he was downright glowing. Who was that honest right out of the gate?

“I wish to be clear on the matter,” Spock said before Jim could respond, which was probably for the better. “Do you have romantic interest in me?”

Jim’s mind stuttered a moment. The answer was, of course, ‘of course’. But he was having trouble forming the words. But Spock had been up-front. Returning the gesture was the least he could do. “Well, yeah,” he said elegantly. “Doesn’t everyone?”

The corner of Spock’s mouth twitched and his eyes seemed to soften. Jim was painfully pleased with himself for that reaction.

“It is not a common phenomenon, no.”

“Only you would call romantic intentions a phenomenon.”

“Considering this is the first time someone has invited me on a date, I would argue that the term applies.”

Jim’s jaw dropped. The Andorian slipped by again, landing Spock’s tea on the table. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

“You’ve never been on a date.” Jim deadpanned, not hearing the woman at all, and Spock looked uncomfortable again.

Leel, perhaps more uncomfortable than even Spock, quickly left.

“If that is a problem–”

“No,” Jim said immediately. “No, I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Spock eased slightly.

“I believe we have at last discovered a subject in which you have more experience than myself.”

Jim allowed a wondering sort of smile to bloom. “Are you teasing me?” He read the faint lines of humor in Spock’s expression. “You’re teasing me!”

“Yet you are pleased.”

“You have no idea,” Jim said, laughing. Oh lord, he was actually giddy.

“Perhaps, given your experience in these matters, you can tell me how to proceed.”

“With the date?” Jim asked, unsure if even he knew. Since coming to the academy, he hadn’t really made dating a priority.

“Indeed.”

Jim gave Spock a considering look. “I honestly never thought I’d have a chance with you,” he said, laughing at himself a little, “so I didn’t think that far ahead. Maybe just… order dinner? Get to know each other?”

Spock’s lips twitched again, and Jim decided it was his night’s goal to get that expression on Spock’s face as often as he could. “I am intrigued by the idea of getting to know you, Jim,” he said, trying out Jim’s name for the first time.

Jim was very pleased with the way it sounded. “You too, Spock.”

“Though I believe we may have alienated our server,” Spock said lightly.

“Dinner can wait then.” He leaned back with a grin, perhaps a little self-satisfied. “Tell me about how you came to Starfleet.”

Spock did, and their conversation ebbed and flowed well into the evening. Spock asked Jim about his own journey to the academy, and they shared stories. Jim told Spock all about this mystery friend who had set them up. The best and worst person in the world, according to Jim at that moment. At some point, Leel returned and at some point they had a delightful meal, but when they left the restaurant that evening the last impression they had was the way their eyes had lingered on each other.

“So your first date ever,” Jim said, standing awkwardly at the parting street where their paths split. “What do you think? Successful experiment?”

“Difficult to say. I believe I will have to… _repeat_ the experiment in order to form a final analysis.”

Jim’s heart jumped into his throat. Who would have guessed the stoic Vulcan could be such a shameless flirt.

“That’s very smart,” Jim said, sidling up to him a little, grinning, “probably a few times. For science.”

“A logical point. May I request your presence Sunday evening?”

Jim hadn’t expected that. Already diving into it? Most people played hard to get, waited a few days, Jim was instantly relieved Spock was not going to dance that dance.

“I’m there.”

“We can discuss the details tomorrow during applied warp theory.”

“First time I’ve ever looked forward to that class,” Jim replied with a sideways smile. Spock hesitated.

“Good night then, Jim,” he said finally.

“I, yeah, good night, Spock.”

They parted, and Jim rounded the corner already wishing he’d gone for the kiss, but he’d have another chance. As he made his way in the darkness toward his dorm, he felt a wide grin blooming. He’d have another chance, when just hours ago he’d been sure he’d never have a first.

He _was_ going to have to kill Bones, just on principle for hiding this from him, but he figured he also owed the guy something major.


	10. Pretext (T'Pura)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…
> 
> Pairing: T'Pring/Uhura (T'Pura)
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Universe: Academy AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another academy AU, but this one fit so well and I had to!

 

“I require your assistance.”

The words, at first, didn’t quite sink in. Nyota had been happily nursing her drink, her well-deserved reward after a long week. The music here was loud and predictable, the bartender chatty enough for company but busy enough to remove any social obligation, and it was as good a place as any to unwind. The ebb and flow of her Friday nights had become important to her-- the few moments she really had to relax all to herself.

At least, most Fridays were like that. With the Vulcan woman sidling up next to her at the bar and her hurried plea for help, Nyota suspected this wasn’t going to be a typical night out.

She turned to the woman, taking in her perfectly manicured hair, done up in an elaborate set of twists and swoops, her straight-set full lips, the way she held herself, stiff and formal. The cut of her dress was angled, standard Vulcan fashion, and she looked entirely out of place at a bar typically frequented by human Starfleet cadets.

“Excuse me?” Nyota asked, a little taken off-guard by the Vulcan’s presence here.

The woman’s brows ticked, as if in frustration. “You are the only person in this establishment sitting alone, and I-- I have falsely informed a potential suitor that I am otherwise involved. Will you assist me or no? He will be here in moments.”

Nyota raised an eyebrow. She’d had to play this game once or twice-- pretending to be someone’s girlfriend to get an insistent drunkard off their backs-- but never for a stranger. And certainly never for a Vulcan.

“I--” Something about the Vulcan’s countenance stopped her, and she relaxed her shoulders, offering a small smile. “I suppose I could help. Nyota,” she introduced herself, holding up the ta’al.

Seeming to wilt with barely contained relief, the Vulcan sank onto the stool beside her, taking her by the wrist and forcing her hand down. “T’Pring,” she said softly, barely audible over the bassline of the music. “I appreciate your assistance, but I request you begin acting as though we are intimately acquainted.”

Just as Nyota opened her mouth to speak, T’Pring’s hand still steady around her wrist, a presence hovered at her shoulder. She only caught T’pring’s non-expressive expression before she turned, noting the figure beside her.

Another Vulcan, it looked like. He was handsome enough, though plain, dark-haired and stern-eyed and standing as straight as though he were at a cadet review. His searching gaze was locked on T’Pring.

“Hello,” he said, ignoring Nyota completely. “I was unsure I had the right location.” He paused, looking around with apparent distaste. “This place is--”

“ _ Nyota _ is fond of it,” T’Pring said, straightening and running her hand along Nyota’s knuckles as she released her. Nyota tried to stop her eyes from widening, but she knew how intimate that touch was considered, and the moment T’Pring’s skin touched her own, she felt a humming sort of electricity dance along her nerves. It took a great deal of self-control not to flex her fingers when T’Pring withdrew. “Stonn, this is Nyota, my lover. Nyota, this is Stonn. A work colleague.”

The way she said ‘work colleague’ could not have carried any less affection. Though, Nyota supposed, she hadn’t said ‘lover’ with very much enthusiasm either.

The Vulcan, Stonn, glanced to Nyota, taking in her academy uniform. “You did not inform me your partner was human.”

“As we are currently assigned to a study on Earth, Nyota’s race should come as no surprise,” T’Pring shot back. It was only the barest bite in her voice that told Nyota she was upset at all.

Nyota noticed Stonn’s disbelief-- one didn’t get as far in the Communications track as she did without picking up on nonverbal cues, even the Vulcan kind-- and though she didn’t know the story she was determined that if T’Pring were uncomfortable, she should step in.

Placing a hand on T’Pring’s thigh, making sure she stayed above the fabric to avoid her skin, Nyota cast a smile Stonn’s way. “Stonn,” she greeted, since the Vulcan himself seemed to have forgotten formalities. “Dif-tor heh smusma. T’Pring hardly ever talks about work. It’s nice to meet a colleague of hers.”

T’Pring shifted with purpose into Nyota’s touch, and the thin fabric of her skirt slipped teasingly beneath Nyota’s fingers. Their eyes met, and by the slight surprise in T’Pring’s expression, Nyota guessed that she hadn’t expected the random human she’d collected to know the Vulcan language.

“Well, I’d offer to let you join us,” Nyota continued, talking over Stonn’s silent astonishment, thumb caressing T’Pring’s thigh, “but we were just about to go dance.”

Stonn seemed suddenly uncomfortable. He looked once more to T’Pring as though asking for confirmation, and T’Pring placed her hand atop Nyota’s again. The determined hum of contact returned, a sort of spike of energy that made Nyota shiver. It was decidedly pleasant.

“Of course,” Stonn said, regaining himself and averting his eyes from their hands. “Forgive me. It seems I am intruding. I will see you in the lab, T’Pring.”

“Very well,” T’Pring replied, and Nyota didn’t fail to notice her uncoiling the hidden tension of her muscles.

Stonn nodded to Nyota, then to T’Pring, then moved away in the direction he’d come, looking staunchly displaced in the bustle of people.

Nyota turned back to her impromptu date, and slid out of the stool, clasping her hand around T’Pring’s. T’Pring seemed to stiffen, but didn’t pull away. “Come on,” Nyota cajoled, and T’Pring glanced at their clasped hands as though they were a particularly perplexing science experiment.

“Where?”

Nyota laughed, tugging with a little more gusto. “To dance. He might hang around for a while and we have to be convincing.”

T’Pring seemed to take a moment to absorb the loud music blaring from the speakers, the red and violet lights that flashed over a writhing dance floor. Nyota was no stranger to Vulcan aversion to physical contact-- her best friend was Vulcan, after all-- but that just meant that T’Pring had found the right person to help her with her act. “We’ll stick to the outskirts of the floor,” Nyota promised, “I won’t let anyone touch you. And,” she glanced off to the side where Stonn had walked away, “once we’re sure he’s out of here I’ll let go, too.”

Surprise widening her eyes, T’Pring seemed to relax slightly. She slipped off her stool and moved to Nyota’s side, still holding her hand delicately. Nyota smiled and led her forward, attempting not to concentrate on how warm T’Pring’s skin was, or how the lights flashed enticingly along the angles of her face. She was supposed to be rescuing T’Pring from unwanted suitors, not  _ becoming _ an  unwanted suitor.

When they reached the edge of the crowded dance floor, Nyota began to sway her hips, smiling at T’Pring’s attempt to do the same. Vulcans weren’t exactly known for ‘getting down’ to pop music. So she guided her with her hand, prompting T’Pring to move in-time with her.

“Okay, not to ask the obvious, but what exactly is the story here?” Nyota said, speaking a little louder over the blaring music. T’Pring looked to her, her cheeks tinted an endearing green, as though she were self-conscious, or as though the contact of their hands had lasted far too long.

T’Pring mirrored Nyota’s movements, rocking her hips and bobbing her shoulders, easing into the movement as the pattern of rhythm caught up to her. “Stonn has been attempting to court me,” she said, tight voice at-odds with the loose way her body began to move. “As I have no interest in him, I have been attempting to dodge his advances. I informed him that I would be spending tonight at a human bar, thinking erroneously that he might not follow.” She looked down at the sticky floor, lips thin. “In a moment of indecision--”

Panic, Nyota mentally translated.

“--I informed him that I was meeting my lover here. Naturally he became suspicious.”

“Naturally,” Nyota said, sidling up a little closer to T’Pring as a group of people passed behind her. Luckily, no one seemed to be gravitating too near them. She glanced around, attempting to find the stiff form of a Vulcan somewhere in the crowd, but it seemed Stonn had left. A little reluctantly, Nyota released T’Pring’s hand. “Well, good news: I think we scared him off,” she said, turning back to her dance partner with a smile.

T’Pring, arms swaying to the beat as her body began to relax more fully into the movement, offered Nyota a softer expression. “Thank you,” she said. “I did not intend to interrupt your evening.”

Nyota grinned, noticing, close as they were, that T’Pring’s eyes were deep, dark, reflecting the lights like they were infinite. Enchanting, she thought. No wonder Stonn was interested in her. “You didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, voice softening as the music began to fade out. “As you noticed, it’s not like I had anyone following  _ me _ to any bars.”

T’Pring looked to her. “Why  _ were _ you alone? You are not unattractive.”

Nyota snorted, placing a hand on T’Pring’s arm to guide her away from the dance floor. “Thanks,” she said with a wry smile. They began to head back to the bar and their abandoned stools, T’Pring’s shoulders relaxing the farther away they got from the press of people. “But I actually  _ chose _ to be alone, if you can imagine.” She tried not to read too much into T’Pring’s sideways compliment. It was probably more a statement of fact than an indication of interest.

“Fridays I usually take myself on a date. A club or a restaurant or a museum-- or something. Sometimes I bring someone along,” she laughed, remembering the first time she’d tried to get Spock to come with her to this particular establishment, “but my best friend doesn’t exactly enjoy the bar scene. It’s alright, though. I kind of like spending time alone.”

Nyota gave T’Pring a smile as she settled back into her stool, although it looked as though something dark had passed over the Vulcan’s expression. T’Pring didn’t sit.

“Ah,” T’Pring said, an air of determination squaring her shoulders again. “Then I would do well to leave you to your solitude.”

Nyota’s smile fell somewhat. “Oh, no,” she said, waving her hand back and forth. “I didn’t mean to say that I don’t like company, too. I’d love for you to stick around. If you’d like, of course.”

It may not have been the evening she was expecting, but it had been kind of thrilling to pretend to be paramour to someone like T’Pring. She wouldn’t mind pretending just a little longer.

T’Pring seemed reticent, but even though she hadn’t yet sat down, she hadn’t left either.

“Here,” Nyota said, “let me buy you a drink.”

She waved down the bartender and T’Pring returned to the stool at Nyota’s side. “Thank you, Nyota,” she said after a moment, “I am honored to join you.” There was a smile at the corners of her lips and a sort of comfort in the way she sat, legs crossed at the ankle, yes, but turned toward Nyota. Cautious, but not unwilling.

Statuesque, Nyota thought. Stunning.

T’Pring ordered some non-alcoholic fruity beverage, and they sat nursing their drinks and chatting for a long time. Nyota learned that T’Pring had been assisting some of Starfleet’s technicians with a study of Vulcan plants, along with Stonn and a few other Vulcan scientists. T’Pring asked Nyota about her studies, and seemed delighted, in her own muted way, when Nyota started spouting out Vulcan as though it were her native tongue. (It was her favorite of the languages she knew, and it if gave her the chance to impress a beautiful woman, then so much the better.)

After they’d talked a while and the bar had begun to fill, it was obvious to Nyota that T’Pring was a little uncomfortable. People kept bumping into her as they attempted to get the bartender’s attention, and the loud noise was probably too much for her sensitive hearing.

Even so, Nyota was reluctant to leave. To leave would mean to part ways, and she still felt it would be wholly inappropriate to ask T’Pring for her number. This wasn’t actually a date, she had to remind herself. It was a ruse. It had been fun, but everything had to end at some point, especially lies.

“You want to get out of here?” She asked finally, nodding toward the exit, raising her voice above some drunken cacophony that had sounded out from the other end of the bar.

T’Pring looked around. Though her expression had softened in the last few hours, Nyota couldn’t quite place every emotion that flitted over her delicate features. “That would be adequate,” she responded after a time, and Nyota gestured for T’Pring to take the lead.

When they squeezed their way up the narrow stairs, out the narrow hallway lined with stickers of band logos,  and out into the chilly, damp evening, Nyota didn’t fail to notice T’Pring shiver. Whether from the fallout of so much human contact or the cold, she couldn’t be certain, but she offered her jacket all the same.

She pulled it from her shoulders, noting the cold that clung to the air. It must have rained while they were inside, and the rolling dark clouds above heralded another storm. She proffered the jacket to T’Pring. “Here, you’ll need this more than me,” she said with a smile. Though it occurred to her only then that this may be where they parted ways.

T’Pring took the jacket with a look that bordered on grateful, tossing it over her shoulders. Over the hours, little strands of hair had sprung from their careful curls, and she was lovely, standing there in the glow of the nearby streetlight, wearing Nyota’s jacket and looking a little less composed, a little less statuesque. But, truly, just as stunning.

“Are you staying nearby?” Nyota asked. The bar was only a few blocks from the academy, and she assumed T’Pring’s studies would keep her close to campus. But still, maybe it was blind hope that made her think she could walk T’Pring home. As if it had been a proper date.

“I am. However--” T’Pring hesitated. From below, Nyota could still hear the pounding bassline, but otherwise the street was silent. It made the long pause a little more obvious. “I would like to walk you home.” She finally finished

Nyota’s smile was probably far too exuberant, but she didn’t exactly care. And here she thought she would be the chivalrous one. But she certainly wasn’t about to refuse the escort.

“I’d like that,” she said, starting off in the direction of the academy, thrilled when T’Pring began to walk beside her. The sidewalks were wide here, and the streets empty, so T’Pring had no reason to stay so close. But Nyota found her own steps matching T’Prings in pace and proximity, looking down at their feet to stop herself staring too long at the woman beside her.

“I would like to thank you again for your help,” T’Pring said. “This evening did not end in the manner I expected.”

Nyota laughed, “You’re telling me,” she said, nudging T’Pring’s shoulder with her own in a moment of forgetfulness. But T’Pring said nothing of it.

They were quiet for a time, Nyota’s smile fading with each step, wondering if it would be weird to ask to see T’Pring again. Sure, they hadn’t intended to meet tonight, but they  _ had _ met, and maybe Nyota was a little too optimistic and a little too drawn-in by a pretty face and a Vulcan accent and a quick wit and a charming personality, but…

“T’Pring--”

“Nyota--”

Nyota chuckled nervously, wrapping her arms around herself to stave off the cold-- and the embarrassment-- as T’Pring’s lips quirked. “After you,” she said, almost glad T’Pring would spare her the agony of asking for her number.

T’Pring nodded, watching the sidewalk before them disappear under their feet. “Nyota,” she began again. “It is presumptuous to ask, and you may decline. But I wonder if you might be willing to assist me further.”

Nyota lifted her eyes to her companion. “Oh? In what way?” She was reticent to agree to anything too quickly, lest she trap herself in an uncomfortable promise, but at the moment she could think of no request that would fall from those beautiful, verdant lips that she wouldn’t instinctively honor.

“Stonn will no doubt inquire as to our relationship,” T’Pring said, her tone confident, controlled. “He may, indeed, expect to see you in my company. Perhaps it would be logical to continue the ruse. If you might be interested in joining me for a date Monday afternoon. For lunch. A pretext, of course.”

Nyota’s steps slowed, a car and its sweeping headlights passed, a roll of thunder echoed somewhere far off in the distance, and she turned to T’Pring with a look of pure, gobsmacked delight.

“Pretext,” she echoed with a smile. “A fake date.”

“To appease curiosities, of course. Nothing more.”

Nyota saw the bare beginnings of a smile on T’Pring’s lips, and decided in that moment that she certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that expression again. Often. Starting Monday.

“I suppose I could help a little longer,” she said, playing into the game. Because it  _ was _ a game. The only pretext here was the pretext itself, and it made Nyota feel as though she were privy to an excellent secret.

T’Pring looked ahead and curled the jacket a little tighter around her shoulders. “It will no doubt make all the difference,” she said. “And it may be pleasant to see you again.”

Nyota glowed, drew her lip between her teeth, and shot anticipatory little glances at her companion the rest of the way to her dorm building, to the bright shine of lights from inside that seemed to be a completely different world from the one she occupied now.

Mounting the first step, now standing just a little taller than T’Pring, she tuned and gave a sad sort of smile to  her companion. It was late-- the clocktower had chimed twice a few minutes ago-- but she was so reluctant to say good night.

“I guess I’ll see you Monday, then,” she said softly. “Meet me here? Noon?” T’Pring nodded once, then pulled the jacket from her graceful shoulders, handing it out to Nyota.

“Keep it,” she said, pressing it back into T’Pring’s arms. “It could start raining any--”

But the jacket fell to the ground between them, and suddenly a warm hand came to the side of her face and T’Pring leaned up to capture Nyota’s lips. Surprise overtaking her for a moment, it took a good few heartbeats before she realized exactly what was happening. When she did, her eyelids fell closed and she sank forward, her hand seeking out T’Pring’s to press their fingertips together.

Another rumble of thunder rolled across the silent campus, and Nyota felt the first smattering of raindrops, but she couldn’t have cared less in that moment. They brought their hands up, pressed between their chests, and Nyota ran her fingertips down T’Pring’s, humming into her mouth.

T’Pring’s breath hitched at the feeling, and she took Nyota’s lip gently between her teeth. Neither seemed willing to part, but the energy that buzzed between them was beginning to make Nyota dizzy and she could feel the rapid breaths in the chest against her own and finally she pulled back, though she kept the contact of their hands.

T’Pring’s eyes fluttered open, a thoroughly enticing emotion swirling in their depths. Nyota shivered, but it had little to do with the cold.

Rain began to fall more insistently now, dappling the sidewalks and speckling T’Pring’s eyelashes with dew. The sight of her was arresting, but Nyota did her best to regain herself.

“Was that pretext, too?” she teased, a little breathless, heart racing. Knowing the answer but thoroughly dumbstruck by it.

“Certainly not,” T’Pring answered, running her own fingertips down the pad of Nyota’s palm. “It was practice, of course.”

Nyota laughed, pulling her hand away because she knew if she lingered any longer in the gentle warmth of T’Pring’s intoxicating touch and smiling eyes then she would never be able to leave. “Of course,” she said, “practice. I suppose I’ll have to look forward to the main event on Monday, then.”

“As will I.”

A rumble echoed through the sky once again, and Nyota drew her lower lip between her teeth. “Will you be alright walking home?”

T’Pring retrieved the jacket, draping it over her head and giving Nyota an almost conspiratorial look. “My lover has lent me her jacket. I will be fine.”

Nyota smiled, heart pounding at the look. As T’Pring turned away, Nyota found herself standing on the stoop of her dormitory far longer than she should have in that rain, watching T’Pring’s steady, sure steps head toward the sciences buildings. Already the promise of another kiss hang in the air, even as Nyota’s fingertips touched her own lips in disbelief.

No, it hadn’t been a date, but damn if it wasn’t the best fake date she’d ever been on.


	11. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Prompt: oh, my god, i thought you were going to die. please don’t ever scare me like that again.
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: T (for initial violence, I guess? I don't know. Kids these days. Maybe it's G. Haha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this trope has been done a thousand times, but you can pry it from my cold, dead fingers. Now it's been done 1,001 times.

Objective facts could be simplistically interpreted to indicate that Spock was strong. Three times as strong as an average human man, they always said. Well, 3.687 times as strong, but only Spock himself had ever bothered to go over the equations and it never seemed worth it to correct his human crewmates. The numbers were negligible, truly, except in that the extra .687 gave him just enough strength to, say, slam the reptilian creature they were currently battling to the ground with his bare hands. The extra .687 gave him just enough strength to press the heel of his palm into its throat and watch its tongue loll out of its scaled lips, watch its sharp teeth gnash. The extra .687 gave him just enough strength to hold the creature through its death throes, to ensure it had perished before he abandoned it there on the moist soil of the jungle floor.

But as he turned back to the prone and bleeding form of his captain, he did not know if he was strong enough to handle this.

He struggled over to Jim, who lay motionless at the base of a tree. Spock had _heard_ the crack when he’d been slammed against it, and he could not shake the echo of the sound from his memory. Even as he examined the clawmarks that raked Jim’s chest, the open wounds that had torn his tender skin and now seeped blood along the shredded threads of his tunic.

Fitting his arm under Jim’s knees and his other around his back, Spock lifted him. It was effortless, a weight he could carry. And he knew he would have to carry him. Their communication had been cut off for hours now, and the rescue party’s rendezvous point was many miles away. But that extra .687 would allow him to make the journey.

As he walked-- stepping over the creature he’d killed, stepping over the looping roots and bright flowers of this jungle that would have been beautiful but for the blood that had been spilled-- his lungs labored for breath. But he knew it wasn’t from exertion. It was from the heat that seeped into his tunic where Jim was pressed against him; it was from the quiet, struggling heartbeat that Spock could feel in the pulse under his fingers; it was from the knowledge that Jim could die, here, in Spock’s arms.

And Spock would have to live with the knowledge that he had not been strong enough to save him.

 

* * *

 

McCoy had tried. He had tried admirably, in fact. Spock had to give him credit for that much. McCoy had made every logical argument he could think of to extricate Spock from Sick Bay. “You’re crowding him,” he’d said. “You’re First Officer; you have duties to perform,” he’d pleaded. “You’re acting emotional,” he’d snapped in a sore attempt to wound Spock’s Vulcan pride. But nothing could wound him so deeply as the sight of the man lying in that biobed, his lifesigns blinking faintly above him as though they, too, had lost their strength.

Spock had assured McCoy he could perform any duties he needed to from here, from the chair he’d brought to Jim’s bedside and settled into with the intention of staying as long as it took. He had assured McCoy that he would not touch Jim, that he would give him room to breathe. He had assured McCoy that the reason he had been sitting in this chair for 18 hours and 34 minutes was logical concern and that he simply wanted to monitor the captain’s recovery.

One of those assurances was a lie.

But McCoy had finally given in, allowed him to stay, allowed him to pile padds on Jim’s bedside table and complete his necessary reports with one eye constantly trained on Jim. Jim, who had not yet awoken. Jim, who was kind and brave and so much stronger than Spock ever had been, who Spock could not imagine a universe without, who Spock could not bear to lose.

Jim, who Spock loved with such intensity it frightened him.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, Spock knew he should feel fear, though his sleeping mind did not remember why. He knew he should feel worry, anxiety, apprehension, nervousness. As wakefulness encroached slowly upon him, he became sure that whatever it was that had scared him was gone now, but Spock couldn’t fathom what could frighten him so. He was strong. 3.687 times stronger than an average human man, and he could face any challenge. Fear was an alien emotion. One he was incapable of feeling.

He believed this with everything he had, until he blinked himself into the darkness of Sick Bay and felt the flicker of slowly flashing lights and knew, suddenly, why he had been afraid. Though he also knew-- in a flash of overwhelming relief-- that he should not be any longer. Eyes were on him, quiet, contemplative, and he shot up from his seat. The chair fell over, clattering against the floor, but Spock’s eyes found Jim’s and he saw a smile in them-- a smile that had been so treasured for so long.

“I’ve never seen you asleep before,” Jim said as if in greeting, voice a little hoarse from disuse, but still blessedly Jim.

Spock could not find it in himself to speak. He was looking at the way Jim sat, back curbed, legs crossed, as though he’d been sitting up a long while, long enough to get comfortable. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands twisted round each other absently in his lap. Spock gravitated toward his bedside, yet managed to stop himself reaching out.

When it became clear he wouldn’t-- _couldn't_ speak, Jim continued. A chuckle fell from his lips. “You hum, you know. In your sleep. Most people snore, but you hum every once in awhile. It’s--” Jim seemed to stop himself from adding a descriptor. “Ah, anyway” he restarted, “how long have I been out, Mister Spock?”

Spock swallowed. In truth, he didn’t know how long he himself had slept, nor could he tear his eyes from Jim long enough to look at the time. Instead, he responded in a way that was perhaps too emotional, nowhere near precise, but nevertheless true.

“Too long.”

Jim’s small smile faded, his eyes soft as they held Spock’s. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Spock did not know how to answer that question. Jim was the one laying in Sick Bay, the one who had been injured, nearly died.

Nearly left Spock alone.

Spock moved forward just slightly, his hand coming to rest along the edge of the mattress, looking down as if to still it before it could reach its intended destination. He wanted to touch Jim, to feel his warmth and know that he was alive. The evidence was there, and of course he was alive, but somehow it wasn’t enough to just see him. It was never enough. Never would be again.

“Spock?” Jim asked, voice quiet, tender. Spock was thankful for the relative darkness, the emptiness of Sick Bay. He should go get Doctor McCoy, should leave, should allow Jim his examinations, should wait for Jim to stride, confident and fully healed, back onto that bridge and take his seat in the captain’s chair, his chair, and he should--

“Spock, what’s wrong?”

Spock brought his eyes back to Jim’s, to the look of concern in his expression. That _he_ should be concerned! _Spock_ was supposed to be concerned, worried, terrified that he might lose this.

“Sp--”

He did not consciously choose to bring his hands to the curve of Jim’s face. He could not recall a decision being made-- or any kind of logical train of thought-- that led him to press his lips desperately against Jim’s own, still open as they attempted to form Spock’s name. He did not remember sinking onto the side of the bed, curling his fingers in Jim’s mussed hair, tilting his head and brushing his tongue against Jim’s, but when he realized that he had, indeed, completed each of these actions he found he did not care if anything logical had led to them at all.

Because Jim brought his own hands to the back of Spock’s neck, pulling him in, letting out a peep of a sound into Spock’s mouth whether from surprise or joy, Spock didn’t know. They pressed themselves together, and with Jim’s chest against Spock’s own he could feel his pounding heart. Alive. The warmth beneath his lips and the hands that now slipped through Spock’s hair and that beautiful rhythm of his pulse-- he was alive.

Jim managed to break away, ducking his head to avoid Spock’s seeking lips, holding him back, breath coming out in little happy gasps, almost laughing.

“If I had known--” Jim said, voice so soft even Spock had to strain his ears to hear. Jim seemed to break over the words like a cresting wave. But he regained them, “If I had known all it took was getting knocked out for you to kiss me like this, I’d have done it a thousand times before now.”

Spock’s heart hitched at the thought, and he pulled away, intentionally dragging Jim’s gaze with him. “Do not say that. Not even in jest,” he demanded with a quake in his voice, his hand coming to Jim’s and grasping it. A spike of pain along their contact reminded him to relax his grip. He was strong. 3.687 times stronger than an average human man. And that did not change simply because the prospect of Jim’s injury had made him feel so, so weak. “I did not know if I could--” Spock paused himself there, unable to say the words even though he felt Jim’s understanding. “Nor do I know,” he continued after a moment, “if I can ever again…”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, cupping Spock’s jaw, “I’m sorry.” And Spock should have been the one apologizing. For feeling too much, for needing Jim so deeply, but then Jim’s lips were back on his own and Spock curled an arm around Jim’s back and reminded himself that he would never have to see Jim like that again, not if he could help it.

He would protect this man with every ounce of strength he had in him. He was strong, and Jim…

Jim made him stronger.


	12. For Your Approval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't exactly a prompt. It was written in response [ to this post ](http://yourthyla.tumblr.com/post/159761442237/saxifraga-x-urbium-tptigger-canistakahari), about how Starfleet personnel have to get approval from a medical officer if they want to have sex with an alien. 
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: T probably
> 
> Universe: TOS or AOS, really.
> 
> POV: Bones, but that's probably obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure with how many notes that post has that someone has already written this, but oh well! Might as well try my hand at it! <3

Leonard McCoy had learned not to ask. It was better this way, he’d long decided. Lieutenant Masters may submit a Form 1037 at 2 a.m. the day she touched down for shore leave, flagged for immediate response. Lieutenant Commander Martin may deliver the paperwork to McCoy’s terminal just hours after joining a landing party on a lovely little planet, full of lovely little humanoid beings who were all-too willing to take a Starfleet officer into their bed. 

Or Jim may submit multiple Form 1037s in one evening, and it would be McCoy’s solemn, professional duty to review each of them, perfectly aware of the activities that would be engaging his captain-- and best friend-- as soon as the approval came through. 

And so Leonard had learned not to ask, because often he knew far, far too much already. Form 1037s were submitted when any human person on his ship decided they wanted to spit in the face of nature and bed an alien, while the aliens on-board the  _ Enterprise _ filed 1038s for the same reason. He’d had to review biological compositions of sexual fluid and detailed illustrations of alien genitalia on nights that he certainly wouldn’t have minded the images of tentacles and scales and fur and whatever else leaving him perfectly, contentedly alone. 

Sometimes he’d had to reject those forms. Heck, sometimes he’d had to tell his own crewmates in no uncertain terms that sleeping with that alien would-- no matter how pleasant it may seem-- literally kill them. And he’d had to endure the complaints and the pushbacks and at least a thousand refrains of “Wait, does oral count?”

And he was  _ done _ . Sick to death of it long before Form 1037-31116320 (courtesy James T. Kirk) made it to his desk.

This time, at least, it was a reasonable hour. Early evening, just after dinner, which at least meant Jim had wined and dined his date before things got heavy enough to warrant the form. Although, Leonard didn’t know what possible alien could have tickled Jim’s fancy all the way out here. They hadn’t had shore leave in months, nor had they engaged in any diplomatic missions, or landing parties to hospitable planets. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve been enjoying the break from the influx of these things. 

He rubbed his forehead, pushed his chair away from his computer console and made his way to his cabinet. If he was going to review this, he’d need a little whiskey.

Pouring it, he contemplated the last few missions they’d been on, realizing suddenly that Jim hadn’t actually submitted one of these in a while. A surprisingly long while. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but it had been  _ months _ . A dry spell, maybe? Or maybe he’d just been indulging with some humans. It was bound to happen-- five year mission and all-- and he knew plenty of folks gave Jim the eyes from time to time. But still, he found he was less annoyed if he imagined that his rather sexually active friend hadn’t gotten any in some time. 

Resigning himself to it, he curled his fingers round his glass and made his way back to his computer, just as it pinged again. A second message? As he settled down, he realized it was a 1038, which made sense. If Jim were planning on sleeping with an alien member of the crew, that person would have to submit their own form. 

Just as he was about to open them, the console pinged a third time.

He blinked at the subject line of the newest message. From Jim himself, he realized. It said simply, “ _ I know you’re going to have a lot of questions _ .”

Leonard scoffed at that. Questions? Oh no, he doubted anything in Jim’s form would surprise him. Not even taking into account Jim’s more adventurous sexual conquests, at this point Leonard had seen everything.

Ignoring the 1038, and the rest of Jim’s message for now, he pulled up the 1037, eyes scanning it. He was familiar with the top half of the form by now-- medical history, allergies, medications-- all information he’d memorized when it came to Jim. The bottom half, though?

 

_ Species of intended partner: Half-Vulcan, half-human _

 

Bones stopped. With the glass halfway to his lips, he felt his stomach clench and roll and his heart make a valiant effort to fail on him completely. Horror dawning with understanding, he closed the window, gulping down his whiskey in one swallow, clanging the glass on the table and pulling up the 1038 that had arrived right after Jim’s 1037.

 

_ Form 1038-2167849 (From: Schn T’gai Spock) _

He didn’t bother reading the top portion-- he’d memorized all that information for all the senior crew-- but his eyes flew immediately to the most important line.

 

_ Species of intended partner: Human. _

 

Suddenly feeling sick, Leonard put his head in his hand, eyes scanning that single line again and again, wondering vaguely in the very deep dark back closet of his thoughts if he could convince himself to interpret these forms in any other possible way. But even as the desperate hope flitted through his mind, he knew for certain what was transpiring on this very ship, rooms away from his own.

Commander Spock and Captain James Tiberius Kirk wanted to have sex. With each other.

And they needed Leonard’s approval to do it.

It was almost darkly comical. He imagined those old-fashioned Earth marriages, the groom seeking the approval of the bride’s family before asking for her hand. Though sex could hardly be considered a marriage, and he could hardly be considered Jim’s father, he felt a kind of strange certainty that this had been inevitable. That he’d been waiting for the day Jim had told him he’d committed to something-- someone. That someday he’d have to give Jim a pat on the arm and give him his blessing to pursue… well, to pursue whatever it was he’d ended up pursuing.

And, of course, it was  _ also _ inevitable that it had been Spock.

Leonard knew very consciously that this request was not in regard to a single night of passion. For one, this was  _ Spock _ , and though he knew after serving with the Vulcan for a few years that he was sometimes capable of a genuine human feeling, he also had a good, solid feeling that casual flings weren’t his particular way.

And, for two, this was  _ Jim _ . Jim, who had been so hopelessly head-over-heels for Spock for so long without even realizing it that Leonard had often considered just spelling it out for him, sitting his friend down and shoving a drink into his hand and asking him seriously if he recognized exactly how much time he spent staring lovingly at his own first officer.

But this had happened without Leonard’s interference, as it would have done eventually. And now he had to sign off on it.

With a sigh, he lifted his eyes back to the screen, closed out of Spock’s form and pulled up Jim’s personal message. Before reading it, he made his way back to the cabinet and poured himself one more glass. Just one more. He’d need it.

Then, steeling himself, he sat back at his computer, scooted forward, and read.

_ From: Captain James T. Kirk _

_ To: Doctor Leonard McCoy, CMO _

_ Subject: I know you’re going to have a lot of questions. _

_ This isn’t exactly the way I wanted you to find out, but I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow. In the meantime, if you feel like helping out a friend… _

 

_ Jim _

 

Leonard scoffed. He didn’t need Jim to explain anything. He didn’t have any questions. He’d known for a long time, and he supposed it would just be cruel to leave his best friend-- hell, if he were being honest, his  _ two _ best friends-- hanging much longer.

They were sexually compatible species, Leonard knew that (as they likely did) so he didn’t have any research to do. All he had to do was click a button and log the forms. Then, Jim and Spock could enjoy the rest of their evening while Leonard could pretend he didn’t know a damn thing about it.

Bones closed his eyes for patience, pulled up the 1038-- Spock’s-- and clicked “approve.” 

On the 1037 he did the same, but he paused a moment before he sent it through.

Scrolling back up to “medical notes,” he typed out a quick message. If Jim and Spock’s first magical night together would be immortalized in the annals of Starfleet’s medical records forever, then his opinion on it might as well be, too.

“ _ You don’t gotta explain a goddamn thing _ ,” the medical note read. And Leonard was satisfied with that.

So, he sent off the forms (glad to see them flee his inbox, along with all their implications) and leaned back in his chair. 

A few long minutes passed as he nursed his whiskey, a laugh on his lips. 

Yes, Leonard McCoy knew far, far too much already, but at least he also knew his best friends had finally found a little happiness in each other. It was about damned time.


	13. For Your Approval, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: So Eveningstar10 (who is a gem of a human being and so lovely and supportive) asked for the previous story from Jim and Spock's perspective. SO I decided fuck it, why the hell not! As a refresher: Starfleet officers are required to get approval from a medical officer and a commanding officer in order to bone an alien. Last chapter, we joined Bones learning his two best friends were getting ready to get it on. Now here's Jim and Spock's side of it.
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Universe: TOS or AOS, as with the last one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the quality of this one is like..... meh, but I wrote 90 percent of it on my phone during my lunch break the other day, and the other 10 percent on my phone during my lunch break today, so please forgive! It's kind of freeing not to care if it's perfect, though. Enjoy!

Needless to say, Jim had not expected tonight to turn out this way. 

When he’d invited Spock to his quarters for dinner, he had assumed the conversation would go one of two ways.

One, he would tell Spock he loved him, that he’d loved him for a very, very long time, and that he would continue to love him but he expected nothing. Then, Spock would politely tell Jim he did not return his feelings. He would thank Jim for his honesty, and they would return to their usual selves. Jim would get his feelings off his chest, and it might start him on the path to closure.

Or two, Jim would chicken out, change the subject, and decide not to tell Spock any of the above. Then he would spend a few more years in pained silence before he tried this particular stunt again. 

What he very much did not expect was this. Spock’s lips desperately moulding against his own, their fingers stroking each other, a hard body above him on his bed and rolling hips against his thigh. He hadn’t expected his feelings to be returned, let alone with such  _ enthusiasm _ , but here they were and Jim was so happy he could hardly even think straight, could hardly choose which part of Spock to focus on. He ran his hand down Spock’s back, slipped his fingers under Spock’s tunic, nipped at Spock’s lip and reveled in the hitch of Spock’s breath. He rose against the body above him, making his interest in the proceedings known, since he could feel Spock’s own ‘interest’ growing against his thigh. 

But just as he rutted upwards, allowing a small, happy moan to bleed from his lips, Spock pulled away, lifting himself on his hands. Jim tried to rise up to meet him, but when Spock moved farther, Jim paused, scanned Spock’s face for some explanation. Maybe he was moving too fast? Maybe, in spite of the fact he could tell Spock wanted this, Spock wasn’t ready? Jim tried to get ahold of himself, to counsel patience. Gently, he ran his hand up Spock’s back.

“Spock?”

“We must stop,” Spock said, sitting back on his heels and dislodging Jim’s reach. Jim propped himself on his elbows, feeling ruffled and disheveled and abandoned and still, yes, painfully aroused.

“Why? What’s the matter?”

Spock’s eyes raked him, and the clear desire in his expression, the flush to his cheeks and the darkness of his eyes, mollified Jim. It wasn’t as though Spock was suddenly uninterested.

“I did not expect this to happen tonight,” Spock said simply, and Jim chuckled his relief. Was that it? He was  _ surprised _ ? Well, that didn’t mean they needed to  _ stop _ .

“Neither did I,” Jim said, sitting up all the way and shuffling forward. “But I’m glad it  _ is _ happening. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Spock rushed to say, a hand coming to Jim’s gently. “I am. I simply mean to say that I have not adequately prepared.”

Oh, well if that was all...

Leaning forward, Jim gently brushed his lips against Spock’s, delighting in the shiver that passed through the Vulcan’s frame. “We can do all the preparation we need to right here,” he said dangerously. Just as he pushed in to seal their kiss, though, Spock retreated again.

“That is not-- I mean to say that I have not submitted the proper paperwork.”

Jim straightened up himself now, feeling his erection flag at the mention of paperwork. “Excuse me?”

“I am required to submit form 1038 if I wish to engage in intercourse with someone not of my species, as you must submit form 1037. I assume you have done so, since it was your intention to proposition me this evening.”

Jim ran his hand through his hair and turned away to hide the blush on his cheeks. “My intention,” he corrected, “was to tell you how I felt and sit here quietly as you rejected me. Even I’m not optimistic enough to have sent off a 1037 with expectations like that.”

Spock’s eyes widened, and he clambered off the bed. Jim nearly reached out (pathetic as it would have been), but he managed to restrain himself as Spock paced toward the center of the room. “Then we certainly cannot go farther than we have without medical approval,” he said.

Jim followed Spock up, moving to join him, knees a little weak. “But, Spock, sweetheart, we’re sexually compatible species. We know that. It’s not as if it would be dangerous!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I would not presume to make such an assumption. Nor to disregard clear Starfleet guidelines.”

“But--” Jim stopped himself, pursing his lips. “The thing is… I haven’t told Bones.”

“Told him what, precisely?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

“Ah.”

“And you can see why it would be a little strange for him to find out through a form.”

“Indeed.”

“So what if we just agree to submit our forms tomorrow? After I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

Spock seemed to consider this. He moved a little closer to Jim, reaching out and running his fingertips along the backs of Jim’s. The touch sent a shudder through his whole body, electrified as it was. “That means we will not engage in intercourse this evening,” Spock said. “Is this agreeable to you?”

Jim swallowed. “I-- is it agreeable to you?”

“I have waited for you for many years,” Spock replied, voice low, bringing himself flush against Jim and laying his free hand along the curve of Jim’s waist. “While I am capable of waiting one more day, I find myself reticent to do so.”

Jim felt Spock’s touch like fire, and without thinking he surged up to wrap his arms around Spock’s neck and steal his lips once again. Spock replied with gusto, opening Jim’s mouth with his tongue and pulling him close and hard against him. Suddenly Jim forgot why he was objecting, why he would ever object to doing anything that would get Spock in his bed that much faster.

When he finally managed to break away, fingertips stroking Spock’s cheeks, he tilted his head downward. “God, Spock,” he whispered, “Okay, let’s get that paperwork out. Now. I’ll talk to Bones later. He’ll understand.”

Spock’s hands roved up Jim’s back, raising anticipatory goosebumps. “Will he?”

“Well, maybe not,” Jim admitted with a huff, “but if he doesn’t, then I’m perfectly content doing damage control tomorrow.”

With a small smile, Spock leaned in for another kiss. It started chaste, but arousal still tickled up Jim’s spine and in moments he had pulled himself against Spock again, his hips rolling unconsciously against the friction of Spock’s body, which responded rather enthusiastically in turn.

“Jim,” Spock said, breaking away. “The paperwork.”

Jim groaned, dropping his head.

“Okay, okay, let’s get it over with.”

He had to pry himself off of Spock forcibly, making his way to his computer console while he prompted Spock to take the padd at the edge of his desk. Jim already had a form 1037 half filled out, one he used as a template for maximum speed in situations like this one. All he had to do was input his partner’s information, which he did about as quickly as he could. 

He looked up at Spock the second he sent it off. “Okay, it’s out. Are you almost done?” Spock didn't look up from his task.

“Nearly. I am... unfamiliar with this form.”

Perking up slightly, Jim tilted his head, though Spock wasn’t looking at him to see the gesture. “You’ve never had to fill one out before?”

This time, Spock did look up, and Jim knew he wasn’t imagining the look of barely-contained embarrassment in the wrinkle between Spock’s eyebrows. “It has not been necessary, no. To be clear, Jim, as humans might say… ‘I only have eyes for you.’” 

Jim beamed, leaning his elbow on the desk and trying to pretend that the simple cliche didn’t affect him nearly as deeply as it did. “Is that so, Mister Spock? I’m honored.”

Lips turning up in a gentle smile, the worry line fading from his forehead, Spock returned his eyes to his padd. “Now, while I understand distracting me is a preferred activity of yours--”

“I wouldn’t say  _ preferred _ \--”

“--it would serve both of us well if you might allow me to finish.”

Jim sighed and leaned back in his chair, but didn’t protest further. “Alright, alright,” he said, “but I plan to go right back to distracting you the moment you’re finished.”

For just a moment, Spock’s gaze returned to Jim’s, an indulgent look. Jim fought back his smile and turned back to his computer. While he waited, he figured he could take these extra moments and pen a quick note to his best friend. He didn’t have time for a full explanation, as that would require digging up ancient history (“Remember when he pulled me out of that swamp? Our hands touched for, oh, a  _ second _ , and it changed my life,” or “Remember when we heard him play his lyre for the first time? Remember how graceful he was? Do you see how graceful he is  _ all the time _ ? Can you really  _ blame me _ ?”) Instead, the message was short and sweet, promising resolution someday, any day but today. 

When he'd finished, he looked back to Spock, who had finally set the padd down on the desk. 

“Done?” Jim asked, suddenly nervous.

“Yes.”

“Now what?” It only occurred to him now that Bones could easily deny their requests. There could be some kind of sexual incompatibility that Jim didn’t know about, or Bones could make something up, channeling his anger that Jim hadn’t said something earlier, or--

“Jim, he will not disapprove,” Spock said, as though he’d heard Jim’s thoughts. Jim straightened in his chair, unable to stop the tightening of his expression that spoke to his worry.

“How can you be sure?”

“The odds of Doctor McCoy finding any medical reason to deny us are 3,284.91--”

Jim laughed, waving his hand, “Okay, okay, I get it. But he may yet take his sweet time. It is his night off, after all.”

Spock rose from his seat, coming toward Jim’s. As he approached, he held out his hand with two fingers extended, two fingers that Jim met gladly. The hum that traveled up his arm was pleasant and soothing, and Jim smiled. Spock sank to his knees in front of Jim’s chair, bringing himself closer to eye level, but in a very dangerous position. His fingertips stroked Jim’s own.

“We may be able to think of some way to spend the time,” Spock said, a suggestion curled around every word.

Jim felt himself practically vibrate at that tone, but he didn’t allow himself to fall into the trap of his own eager arousal. At least, not yet.

“Are you implying that we should jump the gun, Mister Spock?” he asked, heart pounding as he hoped desperately that the answer was ‘yes.’

“No,” Spock replied, his free hand coming to Jim’s thigh as he leaned forward. “I mean to say that we need not engage in intercourse at the moment to take pleasure in each other.”

Before Jim even knew he had made the decision to do so, he closed the distance between them and crashed his lips against Spock’s, threading the fingers of both of their hands together and coaxing Spock onto the floor. He laid above him, holding him down gently, sinking back into the bliss of his kiss. Yes, there were certainly pleasurable activities they could get up to while they waited, but Jim just prayed they wouldn’t have to wait too long.

Luckily, Spock was an excellent distraction. The shift of their bodies, the pleasant sounds Spock eked out when Jim rolled against him, the feeling of his rough tongue between Jim’s teeth all served to make what could have been an interminable wait seem momentary. 

It was only a few minutes later that Jim, face tucked into the hollow of Spock’s throat where he'd been running his tongue along Spock’s rapid pulse, heard his computer beep. 

In a moment, he shot up, balancing his hands on Spock’s chest. He had half a mind to run straight to his computer, but he paused at the sight of the man below him, laid out on the floor with his hair ruffled and shirt hiked up along his stomach, a green blush coloring his face and his lips still spit-slick and parted.

Spock's hands still rested on Jim's hips where he'd been digging in his fingers at each brush of Jim’s tongue, and now he met Jim's eyes. “Are you going to get that?” he asked breathily, hardly sounding like himself. Jim smiled. He could feel how eager Spock was, and he rolled against Spock’s groin, almost as a promise. 

“I’m getting there,” he said. “Fingers crossed,” Jim leaned down for a parting kiss before he raised himself up and struggled to his feet. His pants were tight, and he found himself praying as he took his seat that this  _ was _ from Bones, and not just a random engineering update or something. He opened his inbox and breathed a sigh of relief. 

_ Form 1037-31116320: Approved _ , it said. It was flagged, though, so Jim opened it up, scanning for the medical note. The box that was typically reserved for warnings and specific instructions turned out to contain one single line:  _ You don't gotta explain a goddamned thing. _

Jim grinned. 

“I assume,” Spock said, and Jim turned to realize Spock had sat up, straightening out his tunic, “there were no complications?”

“Not a one,” Jim said, shutting off the computer, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He stood and held his hand out to Spock. When their hands clasped, he lifted the Vulcan to his feet and pulled him close, regaining his trail of kisses along Spock’s neck. The shudder that passed through the skin beneath his lips made his grin widen, and he spread his hands along Spock’s back to feel the stretch of muscle that would soon be all his. In moments, he could explore every inch of this person he thought he’d never have. 

Spock's hands returned to Jim's waist and immediately slipped beneath his shirt. The spark of electricity in Spock’s touch reignited him. 

“Then I can think of no logical reason,” Spock said with some effort, turning Jim toward the bed, “that we must wait a moment longer.”

Jim pulled away just enough to curl his hands into Spock’s tunic, to press a kiss against his bruised lips. “Nor can I,” he said sweetly.

Spock urged him backwards and Jim fell easily into the movement, his heels hitting the edge of the bed. Just as he fisted a hand in Spock’s tunic to drag him back down, to pick up exactly where they’d left off, Spock stiffened against him. Jim broke their kiss, eyes questioning.

“What? What is it?”

Spock’s expression was nearly inscrutable, but his brows seemed downturned, almost sheepish. “I have forgotten,” he said, strained, “that I must acquire permission from my commanding officer as well.”

Jim stared at him for what may very well have been a full minute, cataloguing their proximity, the erection pressed against his own between layers of clothes, his hand in Spock’s tunic and the rank stripes that marked him captain.

Jim blinked. “Spock, that's  _ me _ .”

“I am simply following protocol.”

“You could just, oh,  _ ask _ , couldn’t you?”

The corner of Spock’s mouth lifted just slightly and he gave Jim that look, the look that Jim had fallen so irrevocably in love with, the look that spoke to a kind of comfort Spock felt with him. Him and no one else. Jim wanted to kiss that smile right off his face.

“Captain,” Spock said, almost indulgently. “May I have your permission to engage in coitus with you?”

With a laugh, Jim rubbed his forehead, embarrassed that Spock’s playful tone and the word ‘coitus’ could actually turn him on. Oh, but this was Spock, and Spock could say anything in the right voice and get Jim going. “You may, Commander.”

“Thank you,” Spock said, and he brought his hand to Jim’s. But rather than stroking his knuckles or twining their fingers, he pulled Jim’s hand away and set it gently at Jim’s side. Jim’s eyes widened, in complete disbelief as Spock took a step back. “Nevertheless, I will submit the form.”

As Spock moved toward the computer console, Jim groaned and fell back onto the bed. He patted his erection through his slacks, almost placating, almost in apology. But he loved Spock for everything that he was, including his almost detrimental love affair with regulation, so he could wait another few minutes if he had to. Besides, this time there would be absolutely no worry that the form would be denied, and certainly no more waiting.


	14. Five Times Jim Envied The Meld (And The One Time He Didn't Have To)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Jim knows what a mind-meld entails, he finds himself-- for lack of a better term-- fascinated.
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to this delightful idea by [FlamingBluePanda](flamingbluepanda.tumblr.com), which was basically: [What if Vulcans mind-melded through gentle forehead kisses?](http://flamingbluepanda.tumblr.com/post/161965525975/whispers-what-if-instead-of-that-hand-thing)
> 
> I reached a hell of a spot in my big project and wanted to write something fun with no strings attached. Please forgive any mistakes, it was written in an hour with the help of a great deal of sparkling wine.

**1.**

The first time, Jim just watched. He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know the intricacies of the Vulcan mind meld, or its processes, its necessities, its possibilities. He knew only that his first officer had grabbed his elbow with more force than Jim had ever felt from him-- fingers tightening like a band around his racing pulse-- and said, “I can communicate with it.”

Considering they had been fighting this creature for the better part of an hour, considering they were exhausted, weak, out of phaser power and out of communication range, Jim was willing to try anything. They had incapacitated the large bear-like monstrosity that had been attacking them, shot their phasers through its massive paws and clipped beams along its sides where its fur still smoldered, and now it watched them with a single cracked eye. Jim didn’t want to kill it, but he didn’t want his crew to die, either.

So he nodded, and he watched.

Spock approached the dying animal, though it reeked of charred blood and its own musty, humid stench, and he knelt gracefully before its massive head. That head alone was twice his size, a boulder of a skull. In an instant, it could snap Spock into its jaws. But Spock rested a hand fearlessly against its forehead and leaned forward, pressing his lips to tangles of wiry brown fur. 

From Jim’s perspective, he looked to be blessing the creature, passing a prayer over its head. He thought of last rites and the ritualistic process of levaya. He thought of christening. 

When Spock emerged from the meld, he said he knew where the creature had come from, and why it had attacked. He said he had convinced it to let them live if they saved it.

And Jim didn’t know if the kiss Spock had gifted the creature had been a prayer or not, but it had certainly ended in a miracle.

 

**2.**

The second time, Jim knew what was coming. They had captured the man-- the Klingon, Jim supposed-- hours ago, interrogated him to no avail, and now Darvin sat in Space Station K-7’s single jail cell with a look of defiance on his face. 

“I do not wish to force a meld upon the unwilling,” Spock said quietly, and Jim thought he sounded sad.

“I know,” Jim said, and he laid a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “And I don’t want to ask you to, but Spock… the information he has could save lives.”

Spock’s eyebrows knit in resignation. “The needs of the many,” he nearly whispered, and Jim nodded. He knew the phrase, knew its importance, knew its weight, and knew that Spock would cross a boundary for it if he had to.

Entering the cell, Spock sat beside Darvin, who thankfully hadn’t heard their conversation. He reached out and the man recoiled, but Spock fastened a hand on the back of his neck. “I am sorry,” Spock said. He leaned forward, pulled Darvin to him, and laid a gentle kiss on the man’s forehead. 

Jim watched in silence for a few moments, as Darvin’s eyes widened and Spock’s closed. A sick sort of feeling swirled in his gut, knowing that he had asked Spock to do something he didn’t want to do, to do something so personal to someone who did not wish for it. He watched, knowing beneath all that, that Darvin was unworthy of the weight of Spock’s mind, the tenderness of his lips.

 

**3.**

The third time, Jim was not awake to witness it, though he knew it had happened. He awoke on a bed of straw, heart hammering, feeling the ghost of something against his forehead and knowing even before he opened his eyes that it was Spock. He still felt him-- something of him-- slipping along the edges of his mind, just as sure as he felt Spock’s hand on his chest holding him steady. 

“What happened?” Jim mumbled as he managed to look wearily upon the blurred face of his friend, who hovered over him with concern etched into his strong, hard features.

“You were unconscious, Captain. I apologize that I had to bring you back. We need you.”

And maybe it was the lingering feeling of Spock’s lips on his skin or the lingering vestiges of his mind in Jim’s own, but he thought he knew what Spock meant.

_ I need you. _

Just as Jim had always known he needed Spock.

 

**4.**

The fourth time, Jim heard about it secondhand. From Christine as he sat in Sick Bay after the incident. It had taken a great deal of effort to get he, Scotty, Bones and Uhura back to their own dimension, their own  _ Enterprise _ with its gentle, peaceful crew and its clean-shaven first officer. And Nurse Chapel had stepped up in the aftermath, treating each of them with the kindness she would not have exhibited in that other, horrible universe.

Jim was very glad to be back.

“How did Spock know it wasn’t us?” Jim asked conversationally. Spock had gone to file some reports after delivering an emotionless account of the incident, and Jim thought it might be nice to get another perspective. 

“It was rather obvious, Captain,” she said indulgently as she waved the scanner over him. “You were all belligerent, outraged at the state of things, threatening the crew. But Commander Spock wasn’t sure you were imposters until the meld. Before that, he thought something may have affected--”

“The meld?”

Christine’s eyes widened and she looked down, as though realizing she had overstepped. “Perhaps, Mister Spock should be the one to--”

“Nurse,” Jim said, imbuing his voice with authority. “Did Spock meld with one of us?”

A flush overtook her cheeks. “I didn’t know it was a meld at first,” she confessed. “Spock, ah, _kissed_ you. On the forehead. I thought he was trying to-- to calm you down. Like a lover might.” She pocketed the scanner, and cleared her throat.  “Ah, but, it was just a very efficient way to get information, I understand.”

Jim gaped at her, and felt something hollow in his chest at the realization that Spock’s lips had touched him twice in his life, and both times he had not been present for it. He didn’t know why the thought made him ache, but it did.

“Of course, Nurse,” he said, regaining himself. “Very efficient.”

 

**5.**

The fifth time, Jim watched Spock kiss the strange, bulbous lump of the Horta, the soft press of his lips at-odds with the creature made of stone. It was not the first time he had used the meld to communicate with a nonverbal creature, but it was the first time he had done so after a display like the one in the cave.

Jim could still hear his frantic voice: “Kill it, Jim!” as though it were echoing through the tunnel, and he wondered how Spock could go from protective, murderous fear to a gesture so outwardly tender, so seemingly affectionate. But it was because Jim had asked him. Asked him not to kill the creature. Asked him to trust him. And Spock had.

They did not need a meld to communicate-- the two of them. They never had. And yet, Jim found himself envying the cold, stony creature that now received the gift of Spock’s lips, the gift of Spock’s mind within its own. 

 

**+1.**

The sixth time, Jim admitted to himself that there was no way to communicate this. He had thought that there was nothing he couldn’t tell Spock, nothing they did not intrinsically know about each other, nothing of the pain of secrets between them.

But he stood in front of his first officer, his friend, in his otherwise empty quarters, lips unable to form words, heart screaming his intention in a way it was impossible to translate.

How could he say ‘I love you’ to Spock when words meant so little? When the sound that passed from lungs to tongue to lips was just shapeless air molded like clay, an artifice of the feeling itself. How could he tell the man who stood inquisitively before him, waiting for resolution, when the feeling itself was too big for its word. 

“Jim?” Spock asked, and the sound of Jim’s name pulled him out of his own thoughts. He looked into Spock’s dark eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Spock,” he said softly, “meld with me. Please.”

Straightening, Spock’s gently expectant expression melted into one of controlled surprise. “I--” Spock faltered, gripped his hands behind his back. “I have not prepared for a meld, Captain. When you called me here tonight, I did not expect--”  
“I know,” Jim interrupted, stepping forward. His hands came up to Spock’s arms, holding them lightly, knowing the touch was a risk and taking it anyway. “I didn’t either, but it’s the only way I can tell you. Please, meld with me.”

Spock seemed to wilt under his hands, his shoulders falling. He looked into Jim’s eyes as though searching him for surety. When he found it-- because of course Jim was sure-- he broke the hold of one of Jim’s hands and laid his own long, graceful fingers along Jim’s jaw. 

Then, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Jim’s forehead as Jim’s eyes fluttered closed and Spock’s mind slipped so naturally and unobtrusively along the connection of their skin that Jim didn’t even realize it had happened until he heard Spock from inside his own skull.

_ Jim. _

His name, tinged with palpable care and tenderness and respect, hued in gold, bringing with it impressions of companionship and comfort and quiet, calm, contentment. He heard it, his name and all the rest, though the lips against him remained unmoving.

_ Spock _ , he replied in kind, hoping the name carried all the love and longing and optimism it always carried when he spoke it aloud. He wanted Spock to hear in his name what Jim had heard in his own.

And he knew the second the impressions flowed between them that Spock felt it because he could  _ feel  _ Spock feel it, could feel the moment understanding bloomed like bouquets inside him, and love to mirror Jim’s own rose before him and within him and he felt a small smile in the lips against his skin.

When Spock pulled away, his mind retreating with his body, Jim refused to let him go entirely. The moment those lips moved from his forehead, Jim leaned up, capturing Spock in a kiss that Spock must have known was coming. He knew Jim better than anyone alive, and now he knew everything there was to know about him, including that overwhelming desire to kiss, to hold, to cherish, to own and be owned and to share in all that he was, all that  _ they _ were. Spock’s eyes closed, his mouth moved against Jim’s own, and the fingertips along his jaw curled in delight and awe.

Though it was the first time they had melded, truly melded, he felt as though Spock had always been a part of him. And now he knew he always would.


	15. Anesthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to"
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling prompts to break through writer's block is, apparently, what I do. This one is so weird, haha! Hope you like it!

Jim Kirk would have liked to say that this singular experience finally convinced him to listen to the good Doctor McCoy. Or to say that he learned his lesson, in the long run. But one catalyst can stimulate multiple results, and for every cause there can be many effects, not all of which necessarily turn out unpleasant.

But somehow Jim’s decision to continue eating those delectable hard candies (even after Bones told him to give them up time and time again over their decade of friendship) led to this, laying in a biobed with the effects of anesthesia only now beginning to dissipate, staring at a gobsmacked Spock who stood by his bedside wearing an expression of complete and utter turmoil-- for Spock, at least.

And to think, it started with a simple toothache.

 

* * *

 

 

“Goddamnit, man, how many times have I told you?”

“I’ve lost count over the years, but why don’t we get Spock in here? I bet he’d have exact numbers.” Jim hoisted himself from the chair-- or made a valiant attempt to do so. Bones shoved him back into it with a hand on his shoulder, then raised the medical scanner once again, prompting Jim to open his mouth.

He did.

“This isn’t just a cavity, Jim,” Bones said, sounding tired. “It’s a damned canyon. We’re gonna have to pull both teeth.”

Jim snapped his jaw shut, looking up in horror. He hadn’t had dental surgery since he was a child. 

“I floss twice a day,” he said, as if that fact might protect him from either Bones’ ire or his surgery.

“Well, the enamel gets weaker as you get older,” McCoy said with a shrug, pocketing his scanner. “They’re just molars, Jim. It’s not like it’ll ruin that smile you’re so proud of. But they are deep in there-- we’ll have to knock you out a little.”

Jim rubbed his forehead. Older. Why must McCoy always remind him he was getting older? But, Jim supposed, that was just Bones’ role as Jim’s doctor. Ship’s doctor. And as one of Jim’s best friends.

“Okay, Doctor,” he said, rising from his seat. Bones didn’t try to stop him this time. “Schedule the surgery, if you must.”

“You’ll be happy once that cavity’s gone and you walk outta here with a shiny new set of implants. Trust me.”

Jim did trust Bones. Implicitly, but perhaps he shouldn’t have.

 

* * *

 

 

There were no complications after the surgery. At least, that’s what Jim thought Bones had said. In all honesty, Jim was so overwhelmingly fascinated with the rainbows that branched from the overhead lights if he squinted his eyes just right, he hardly heard his doctor. He hardly heard  _ anything _ , really, except a vague musical tune that, if he thought about it hard enough, most definitely originated within his own head.

A warm smile spread over his face and he held up a flopping hand to Bones. “Y’see’em?” he slurred. “The rainbows?”

Bones hovered over his vision, obscuring the light, and Jim gave him a look of consternation. Well, he was going for consternation. He couldn’t quite feel his face so he wasn’t sure how successful it was.

“‘Ey,” he complained.

“I hope this anesthesia never wears off,” Bones said with a satisfied little smirk.

Jim waved him away and Bones stepped back, still smiling.

“Me too,” he agreed, “Y’ever notice how many colors there are in the world? I never noticed. I mean, wow...”

He thought he could feel Bones rolling his eyes at that, but he didn’t actually look to see. Instead he looked up, then-- as a sound alerted him to someone’s presence-- his gaze fell to the doorway.

Bones, always thinking ahead, had asked Spock to retrieve Jim from Sick Bay and walk him back to his quarters after the surgery, and now Spock strode in, cool and collected as always. No,  _ two _ Spocks strode in, both blurry and indistinct, and Jim smiled at them.

“Mister Spocks,” Jim heard himself greeting, though his voice seemed to echo. “Good to see you both. It must be my lucky day.”

Bones turned to Jim’s first officers with a deep, suffering sigh. “He’s still a little loopy from the anesthesia, if you couldn’t figure for yourself. I have about ten thousand reports to file, so if you’d be so kind--”

“Say no more, Doctor,” Spock said, or, one Spock said. The other seemed to fade into the form of the first as Jim’s eyes focused. “I will ensure he makes it safely to his quarters.”

“My hero,” Jim said, and his voice sounded too flat, so he rushed to add, “that wasn’t sarcastic! I mean it. You’re… you’re a hero Mister Spock. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life?”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Bones said with a chuckle. “Good luck, Spock.”

“Dozens,” Jim answered his own question, hardly registering that Bones had even left the room until Spock approached the biobed, looking soft-- though maybe that was just the blur around Jim’s vision.

But, of course, Spock often looked soft-- not like this, not in those sort of hazy hues of the lingering rainbows spotting his eyes-- but in a casual, comfortable kind of way. Spock was his friend. Spock liked him. And Jim liked Spock very much.

“Are you able to stand?” Spock asked gently, resting a hand on the bed. Jim felt his lips pulling into a smile.

“Nope. Looks like you’re gonna have to carry me,” he sing-songed, holding up his arms. Spock did not take the offered gesture.

“We may wait for the anesthesia to clear,” Spock said instead. “I estimate it will not take longer than two minutes. Are you in pain?”

Jim thought it over, taking stock of himself. What did pain feel like? He couldn’t quite remember, but he knew it wasn’t a good feeling. And right now all he could feel were good feelings. 

Good feelings. Good feelings like giddiness and joy and relief and excitement and love. He loved good feelings.  _ These _ feelings. This mounting pressure in his heart that made him grin and giggle as he laid his head back on the pillow. 

“Jim?”

Jim cracked open his eyes, meeting Spock’s.

Soft, he thought again. Those hard-edges in Spock’s crow’s feet completely gone. And Jim thought suddenly that that’s what love looked like. Spock. Spock’s expression. Spock’s face and hands and body and soul and Spock looked like love because Jim loved him. 

For some reason he couldn’t quite remember at the moment, he’d never told him so. Well, that wouldn’t do. Jim was usually so good about telling people he loved them, reminding them why, telling them why they were important. Why would he ever keep that from  _ Spock _ ?

“I love you,” Jim said as if he’d said it a hundred times, a smile widening along his numb lips, laying his hand over Spock’s.

The softness fled Spock’s expression and the hard edges returned, his whole body straightening as though he’d been turned to wood. Did Spock hear him correctly? He must not have, because love was a good feeling, and Spock would be happy if he knew Jim loved him.

“I love you  _ so much _ ,” Jim said again, a little louder and with a little more emphasis to make sure Spock heard, and something in the back of his mind told him that maybe he should walk it back, add a clause that specified friendship, but the other part of him wanted to laugh at that. It would be a lie and he never liked lying to Spock. So, he decided to clarify, ignoring that voice in his head even as it started to scream at him to shut up.

“And not in a friend way,” he added, “I mean I _ do _ , but it’s a friend way plus everything else. And I...”

The screaming voice in his head was getting louder as Jim’s vision began slowly to clear. The blur at its edges fading, the giddy kind of feeling dissipating because Spock was just staring at him and Jim couldn’t quite figure out that look on his face.

“You aren’t happy?” Jim asked, confused. And it sank into him that Spock  _ wasn’t _ happy. And it sank into him that somewhere in his mind he’d known Spock wouldn’t be happy. And it sank into him that there was a very good reason he’d never said ‘I love you’ aloud to Spock before.

Spock pulled his hand away from Jim’s, taking a swift step back. “Captain,” Spock said, tone clipped and harsh. “You are clearly still suffering the effects of the drug. I believe I should return when you are fully aware.” He made to turn and it was as though someone had dumped ice down Jim’s shirt. He shot up in bed, head swimming, and reached out, though Spock was just outside the reach of his fingertips.

“No no, wait, Spock,” Jim rushed out, “wait no I’m clear, I’m aware. I-- please wait.”

Spock paused, turned slightly, then looked to Jim with an expression that, if Jim read it correctly, was masking something pained and overwhelmed.

Turmoil.

And as the fog began to clear in earnest-- sobriety helped along by a surge of adrenaline-- Jim thought suddenly that he  _ should _ have listened to Bones all those years ago when he told him to give up hard candy. Because now here he was in Sick Bay, very aware of a throbbing ache that had begun to pulse from his jaw, staring at his best friend, first officer, the man he loved, realizing he’d just ruined everything.

“I am so sorry,” he said immediately, shaking his head to try to clear the rest of that floating, flickering haze of anesthesia, but it was still there and it made it  _ so _ hard to think. He felt as though he was only capable of feeling one thing at a time, and now the giddiness that had filled him so profoundly had been replaced with terror. “I didn’t mean-- I mean, I  _ meant _ it, but I didn’t mean to say it. I never meant to  _ say _ it, Spock. Because that would put you on the spot and you don’t need that, especially not from me since I’m supposed to be your  _ friend _ and everything, but it gets so hard to just be your friend, Spock, and--”

And…

And what had he been saying? He was rambling, and through the numbness of his face he wasn’t even sure Spock had actually understood any of that, or if he might pretend he hadn’t.

Damn the drugs, damn the candies, damn Jim himself. He had kept his feelings hidden for how many years? And now--

Now, Spock was looking at him, hands tucked behind his straight back, chin tilted upwards, looking at Jim as though he were dangerous, a risk Spock needed to assess and think his way around. But Jim never wanted to be a danger to Spock.

“Just,” Jim said, slower this time, “just please be my best friend right now, not the man I just confessed my love to.”

As Jim looked on him, Spock lowered his head and took in a breath that tightened the tunic along his chest, a flat plane of blue that Jim refused to let his eyes fall toward, though he had as little control over the direction of his gaze as he did over his own mouth.

Then, finally, Spock spoke. “Best friend,” he echoed softly. A sigh seemed to leave him and he turned to face Jim again, reclaiming the steps he’d taken away from the bed and approaching tentatively. Jim sat up straighter, watching the hardness fade once more from the lines Spock’s figure cut against the backdrop of Sick Bay. “I  _ am _ your friend, Jim,” he continued, “I have been, and always shall be.”

And Jim knew in his heart that that was all Spock would ever be. Jim had  _ always  _ known that was all Spock would ever be. And even though he wanted more with such desperation it frightened him, he also knew Spock’s friendship was to be valued, treasured, never taken for granted. He opened his mouth to say as much before Spock reached out, a hand falling over Jim’s.

“However,” Spock said, something warm in his tone that drew Jim’s eyes to his lips. “If your feelings are genuine, as you say… I may also wish to be the man you just confessed your love to. They are not mutually exclusive states of being.”

Jim felt his stomach fall into his feet, then rise into his throat, then turn over on itself as his heart began beating so frantically he thought the biobed’s lights might flash themselves into a fit. He searched Spock’s face, sure for the briefest moment that this was some delusion brought about by the drugs, some anesthesia-induced hallucination. But Spock looked solid, vaguely amused, somehow happy, though he bore no true smile on his slightly curved lips. And he looked soft. The kind of soft that he always looked when he looked at Jim.

“Spock,” Jim said, his voice hoarse with disbelief. He didn’t know how to finish.

But Spock simply moved the hand over Jim’s own, curling Jim’s fingers one-by-one until only two stood erect. Then, he lifted Jim’s wrist and pressed his own fingertips against Jim’s-- the same expression of affection Jim had seen Spock’s parents exchange years ago.

Jim felt as though he had been drugged again, the world spinning and twirling and making him dizzy, but that was the effect Spock had always had on him. He wondered vaguely if maybe all this time he had that effect on Spock as well. Jim let out a breath that seemed to empty his lungs and he laughed, feeling tears at the corners of his eyes.

“I suppose--” he said, his voice hitching over the emotion that rose in his throat, “I suppose you don’t want to kiss a man who’s just undergone oral surgery,” he finished lamely, but with no small bit of hope.

Spock’s lips twitched more noticeably. “Jim, I  _ am _ kissing a man who has just undergone oral surgery,” he stated, curling his fingertips against Jim’s as if to emphasize the action. “But yes, I believe you must heal before more human methods of expressing affection can be employed.”

Jim grinned. He could wait however long it took. After all this time, a day or two felt like absolutely nothing.

 

* * *

 

If Jim had learned his lesson, even for the briefest moment, it certainly didn’t stick. One week later, he sat in the chair across from Bones’ desk, unwrapping another hard candy with a pleasant crinkle. When Bones lifted his eyes at the sound and leveled a hard look at Jim, Jim just smiled, popped the candy in his mouth, and silently dared the doctor to tell him the consequences of indulgence were worse than the rewards. At this point, he owed these candies a debt of gratitude, and they both knew it.


	16. The UFO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: The UFO landed without so much as a whisper of sound.
> 
> Pairing: K/S (at least it would be if I had more time)
> 
> Universe: Modern AU!
> 
> This prompt of course made me think of K/S! A modern take with a more modern conception of "aliens." I don't know where this story would go if I ever went forward with it, but you can bet they'd fall in love.

Jim wouldn’t even have noticed it if he hadn’t been gazing out into the forest. It moved so quietly, so _ intentionally _ over the spired tips of the trees that it could have been a bird if it hadn’t been almost frighteningly still as it floated. Just a shadow, blocking out a simple oval of starlight, passing over it like a hand passing over a flame. 

The night had worn on like it usually did when Jim and Bones went camping, with a bit of an addition. Bones had brought Jocelyn this time, so Jim had made a point to be a little less raucous than usual, tempering himself -- and Bones -- from the worst of their drinking. Bones wanted to be his best for this girl, after all, and Jim wanted to get on her good side, too. He knew about the ring in Bones’ pocket, the promise they were about to make. But in spite of the restraint, they  _ did _ drink, and they told stories and stoked the fire, and Jim had cooked up some burgers on a little makeshift grill, and it was  _ fun _ . It always was.

But when Bones and Jocelyn forgot about him for a minute, absorbed themselves in each other -- his hand on her thigh, her lips on his stubbled jaw -- Jim turned away, out of respect as much as anything. With the drink buzzing in his veins and the bite of the air in his throat and in his lungs and the campfire smoke casting gray billows over the blue night, he didn’t mind. Not really. 

The fact that he held his sixth beer in his hand clued him into the fact that he might have been a little hazy. The fact that he held his sixth beer in his hand alerted him to the fact that maybe it had been a trick of the light, the smoke, the frustrating truth of his mind that he always looked for adventure when there was none to be had.

But he could  _ swear _ he saw it. And if there had been so much as a whisper of sound he would have actually been sure. But he wasn’t  _ sure _ . 

“Did you see that?” he asked the couple, knowing the answer before the words left his lips. Bones and Jocelyn were wrapped up in each other’s arms across the fire, smiling and laughing, and when they turned to him they both wore an indulgent look, like he was some small child they were babysitting for the night. 

“What are you talking about?” Jocelyn asked with a giggle tugging on her words that didn’t quite manifest. “You trying to scare me?”

“You tryin’ to scare her, Jim?” Bones teased, and Jim’s lips twisted in a little smile.

“You really think I’m that bad? No, I just – I swear I saw something. Over the trees. Just there.” He gestured with the can in his hand, a vague sweep over the forest.

Bones rolled his eyes, shining with the orange light of the fire, and Jocelyn let out a little  _ pfft _ of amusement. The light flickered over them both, and though they were here together -- all three of them -- Jim felt separate from them, somehow, as though he were looking at his friends through a picture frame, rather than over a roaring fire. So before they could tease him for his delusion, Jim set his beer down, twisted it into the soil to keep it steady, then stood, cracking his back, his puffy coat letting out a puff of air as he stretched his hands behind his back. “I’m going to go check it out,” he announced. 

Removing his hand from Jocelyn’s leg for a moment, Bones turned fully to Jim, his forehead furrowing. “You sure? It’s damn late –“

“I’m sure,” Jim said, waving him off. “I’ll be safe, promise. If I’m not back in, oh, twenty minutes, you can call the ranger station.” He said it with a laugh, if only because he knew that if he were gone for twenty minutes, both Bones and Jocelyn would be too occupied to notice.

Bones raised his own beer, smiling. “Alright, Jim, we’ll wait up for you. Or not,” he said, and Jocelyn laughed. She had a musical kind of laugh, and it made Jim smile in spite of himself. He knew they didn’t believe him, or rightly care what he saw. Even in his own mind, it sounded crazy, but he could swear…

He set off into the forest, tugging the keychain flashlight from his pocket and jingling the keys to scare off any wildlife. Drunk, but not an idiot, he wandered forward, a single beam of white light casting unsettling shadows against tree trunks, roots rising black against the rough bark. Each time a twig snapped under his feet, he took in a sharp breath, and after a while the crackling of the fire and the smell of smoke disappeared, as did the sound of Jocelyn’s laugh, Bones’ quiet murmur. It felt like a different world out here. Alien, somehow.

But the sounds of the forest were their own company – crickets creaking like old rocking chairs between the trees, leaves rustling with squirrels or whatever happened to be up this late besides the forest’s human intruders.  He enjoyed the music of it for a time. Until it began to fade away. 

He didn’t realize it at first, but as he walked the sound seemed to edge into the background of his thoughts, quieter and quieter until the crickets stopped creaking and the leaves stopped rustling and silence settled full and hard around him.

Shoes sinking into the rotting foliage beneath his feet, Jim paused, taking in a breath of cool near-autumn air. This  _ was _ silence, but it was loud, heavy on his eardrums as though the pressure of the air had expanded and expanded until it closed in around him. With the first spike of fear, he considered turning back. He hadn’t found anything yet, after all. But whatever it was had entered the trees somewhere in this direction, hadn’t it? And Jim never shied away from curiosity. It was perhaps his biggest fault.

Moving forward, he stepped lighter, quieter, and it was only due to his own intentional silence that he ended up hearing it.

It -- whatever it was --  beeped. Quiet and far away as if through speakers. It beeped, over and over again, rhythmic like a heart monitor or a truck backing up. The kind of sound that he’d been raised to understand meant caution. But Jim Kirk wasn’t much for caution. He never had been. So he moved on. After just a few more moments, something seemed to peek through the trees up ahead. In the almost suffocating darkness, it glowed. A light. Green, maybe. Or white. Brighter and brighter the closer he walked, eventually overpowering his own small flashlight, the beam lost in a glow that seemed to touch everything without casting anything in clarity.

The pulsating beep was louder now, sounding out in time to his heartbeat. And when the forest thinned into a kind of clearing and the starlight caught a glint of metal and his own flashlight shone over a scorched patch of grass, he stopped. 

It was here he would have to make the choice. Turn around, now, or raise his eyes from that bit of charred earth. It was here he would have to decide if he wanted to know what it was that had cast its shadow over the stars or if he wanted to pretend he’d never seen a thing. There was still time -- a normal life waiting for him beside a fire pit with his best friend and the woman his best friend would marry. A camping ground. A friendly excursion out into the woods. All at once, he felt stone-cold sober, still heavy with the thickness of the air, , his heart freezing in his chest. And he made the decision.

Jim Kirk was not one for caution. As his extremities went numb, he raised his eyes, standing at the edge of the forest in front of a craft he couldn’t identify -- couldn’t even  _ begin _ to identify. His eyes fell across smooth planes of metal, seeing but not absorbing the massive oval shape that had settled itself in the middle of the clearing. But, no, it hadn’t settled. It  _ hovered _ , the slip of its base barely grazing the tips of the grass.

With a heave of a breath meant to steady him, he set his hand on the closest tree trunk, casting his eyes to the first sign of movement, the beam of his flashlight accidentally falling on a figure that he knew, even before he  _ knew _ , would change his life forever.

A man -- or, something like a man, stood beside the craft, a hand on its surface. He could have been human but for the green tint to his skin (a trick of the light?) and the pointed ears that curved up into the absorbing black of his hair. His profile cut sharp, angular and intent against the light, and he was staring at the ship as though attempting to solve some kind of puzzle. As Jim watched, he swiped his hand to the side, and the craft opened, a panel sliding into nothing as it revealed a mess of wires and bolts that Jim, the best damn mechanic in Riverside, Iowa, couldn’t make heads or tails of. Jim’s fingers went slack around his keychain and it fell with a clank to the ground. The man’s head pivoted to the sound, not a note of surprise in his angled brows or straight-set lips. He turned from the craft, his figure silhouetted against the bright green-white shine of the ship’s forward lights.

Jim thought he should run. He should make his way back through the trees and find Bones and Jocelyn and whatever comfort of normalcy they might have offered. It would have been the smart thing to do -- cautious.

Instead, he swallowed. “Hello,” he croaked, unsure if the word might even register as language to this tall, quiet stranger.

The world beeped and glowed around him, and the man … 

The man lifted his hand, spread his fingers -- thumb out, index and middle together, ring and pinky together -- and he spoke, a voice that seemed deep and unnatural in the cool air of the forest. “ _ Dif-tor heh smusma _ ,” he said, gibberish as far as Jim was concerned. But then he took a step forward, blocking out the light so Jim might see his face. 

He looked -- concerned. “Please tell me,” he said in perfect, practiced English. “Is this Earth?”

Jim didn’t know how to respond. Even he wasn’t so sure anymore.


	17. The Outburst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: “How have you made it this long without someone throwing you out an airlock or something?!”
> 
> Pairing: K/S obvs.
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Universe: AOS, Post-Academy AU. Jim's still a cadet, but he's not exactly "at" the Academy anymore. Spock was once his professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written very quickly and mostly drunk on cheap Cabernet Sauvignon. Forgiveness for any mistakes or lack of finesse is appreciated, haha. Thanks for reading!

“ _ How _ have you made it _ this long _ without someone throwing you out an airlock or something?!”

Jim didn’t mean for the words to leave his mouth, let alone with such  _ force _ , but his fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose and he was nursing a hell of a headache and he, thankfully, didn’t see Commander Spock’s immediate reaction. If there even  _ was _ a reaction. As silence settled like an icy fog between them, he lowered his hand. A feeling of dread began to sink deep into his stomach, and he tacked on a “sir” as quickly as he could. But too much time had passed for Spock to hear it as anything but the afterthought that it was.

Reluctantly, Jim met Spock’s eyes. They were as expressive as ever -- which meant they weren’t expressive at all -- and Jim was suddenly grateful they were the last two bodies in the briefing room. He didn’t think his pride could endure anyone on the crew (let alone senior officers) witnessing the the talking-to he was about to get.

But when Spock spoke, it was in measured, careful tones. “Cadet Kirk,” he said, Jim’s rank subtly emphasized. “Your inclusion on this landing party is a privilege that may be revoked at any time, by any ranked member of this crew. I trust you understand that fact.”

Of course Jim understood. He had been waiting for this opportunity since he’d begun serving on board the  _ Enterprise _ \-- his final experience before graduation. And of course he’d gone and ruined it. But Spock had kept him behind after the briefing to  _ exhaustively _ refresh his memory on landing party protocol. Jim had assured him (more times in the last fifteen minutes than he could count) that he was prepared,  _ over _ -prepared even, and he could hardly blame himself for getting frustrated. But he  _ could _ blame himself for expressing that frustration. He couldn’t blow this chance, especially not with Spock. Spock’s recommendation was the reason he was here in the first place.

And, maybe, Jim had to admit to himself that his outburst had come from the very real hurt he felt at the realization that Spock didn’t believe in him. Not enough to assume he’d done his research and preparation, at least. It stung, after all this time.

“I understand, Commander,” Jim said, and it was his turn to emphasize Spock’s rank. Back when they had first met nearly three years ago, it had been ‘professor,’ a title that demanded equal respect and received it about as often as ‘commander’ did. “I -- I apologize for my outburst.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot into his bangs, and Jim wondered at the expression for a moment. It didn’t _ look _ condemning, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t.

“I do not believe your apology to be sincere,” Spock said casually. Jim barely managed to stop himself from gaping at him.

“No, sir,” Jim said in rushed assurance, “it is, ah,  _ sincere _ . I was just --”

Spock held up a hand to stop him, then gestured for Jim to take the seat he had only recently vacated -- when he had stood in frustration and shouted at the very man who held Jim’s career in his hands. Jim took in a breath and sat down, careful to keep his back straight as Spock took the seat beside him, turning his chair to face Jim’s.

“Cadet,” Spock said, his hands clasped in his lap. “Since your days at the Academy, I have observed your qualities, positive and negative. The positive -- your curiosity, intelligence and determination -- are the very reasons you are currently aboard this ship, and the reasons you were selected for this landing party. And yet, the negative -- your stubbornness, emotionalism and impertinence -- are inexorably tied to those positive traits, and I do not believe it is within my power to change you.” There was a beat before Spock continued. "Nor do I believe I would, if I could."

Jim felt a ‘however’ coming on, just like he had in his first advising session with Spock when Spock had assured him he was one of the most gifted students that Spock had ever met, and added that Jim needed to get his act together if he was going to graduate on his planned accelerated schedule. Spock settled back slightly in his seat before continuing.

“However,” he said, and Jim almost smiled at how predictable the Vulcan could be. “If you do not respect the chain of command, I will not be the only person to whom you must answer. Our history --” Spock paused, briefly, but long enough for Jim to notice. He started again without finishing his original thought. “I believe I know you quite well, Cadet. Other senior members of this crew do not. If you had suggested to Captain Pike that he should be thrown out an airlock --”

“I didn’t mean to imply you  _ should _ be thrown out an airlock,” Jim interrupted, adding “sir” once again the second he remembered to. He didn’t know why it was so hard for him, when he was so good about rank with everyone else. Spock was just a special case. He always had been, whether he was Professor Spock, Commander Spock, or simply Jim’s unexpected and grudging friend, Spock. “I just meant that if someone  _ had _ threatened to throw you out of an airlock I wouldn’t exactly have trouble understanding why.”

Spock's lips ticked up slightly at their corners, and Jim let out a little breath of relief that he hoped Spock didn't notice. Fat chance. Spock noticed everything. He certainly noticed everything about  _ Jim _ .

“Cadet,” Spock addressed him again, though without any of the intentional emphasis of before. “I believe you may be an exemplary officer someday, but you must learn to control your emotions.”

Jim snorted, leaning an elbow on the table. “With all due respect, Commander,” he replied softly, almost regretfully, “we aren't all Vulcan.”

“No,” Spock conceded with a nod of his head, “but we  _ are _ all members of Starfleet. I do not suggest you practice control for my own satisfaction. Is it so difficult to believe that I wish to see you succeed?”

Jim paused, staring at Spock, digesting those words in the context of his earlier flash of anger, finding his frustration fading with the understanding look on Spock's face, and the strange, sure feeling in himself that said Spock was being honest with him. Finally, he narrowed his eyes, comprehension washing over him. “That’s why you were going over protocols,” Jim said. “Not because--”

_ Not because you don't believe in me _ , his mind completed, though he didn't say it aloud. It was too embarrassing to admit he needed Spock’s approval so desperately.

There was a beat of silence, which told Jim all he needed to hear. 

“I will not, as you might say, 'hold' your outburst 'against you,'” Spock said, as though he hadn’t even heard Jim. Jim considered that a blessing. “But, if you might indulge me, I would like to continue our review of landing party protocols. We will beam down to the planet in 43.2 minutes, and there is much to discuss.”

Jim felt his heart trip over its own beat, warm pride filling his chest and turning his lips into a smile and easing his fears and frustration and  _ everything,  _ because Spock believed in him. He always had.  Maybe it was Jim’s turn to start believing in himself. 

“Alright, sir,” Jim said, intentional with the title this time. “Thank you, sir.”

And he hoped Spock knew he was thanking him for more than his forgiveness. He was thanking him for this opportunity, for the faith Spock had placed in him that he had trouble believing he had ever earned, for the years of mentorship and friendship and everything in between -- and for the promise that Spock was more to Jim than Professor Spock, Commander Spock. 

He was just Spock. 

“You are welcome, Cadet,” Spock said, and Jim knew then, as he’d known three years ago sitting in Spock’s office at the Academy, that he could fall in love with this man if he wasn’t careful.

Just as he knew that he was  _ never  _ careful. One of those negative traits. One of those positive traits. One of those reasons he sat here now, across from a friend, putting aside his pride, frustration, and all the rest for the sake of possibility.

And there was possibility. In his career, in this landing party, in the graduation mere months away -- and in Spock, who set his hand on the table inches from Jim's own and looked at Jim with an understanding Jim didn't deserve.

But he would. He had to. He'd earn Spock's approval, respect, loyalty, and maybe (if he was very lucky) his love, too.


	18. Extensive Coverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spock is a top model and Jim is the journalist at a monthly fashion magazine who's become more than a little smitten by him.
> 
> Universe: Modern AU  
> Pairing: K/S  
> Rating: G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this awesome art](http://onedamnminuteadmiral.tumblr.com/post/170457582446/mxgicdave-au-where-spock-is-a-fashion-model) by mxgicdave, and inspired by not having written or read fanfiction in a month or more. I missed these boys so much, haha!

Jim Kirk measured his life, his career, in word count. A 1,500-word profile, a 5,000-word feature story, 150-word blurbs. He’d spent hundreds of thousands of words writing about places like Paris and Milan, a good 10,000-plus on models like Christine Chapel and Janice Rand.

 

Spock Grayson, though, started with 150 words, a single mini-profile in a multi-page spread about the new-to-Fashion Week models arriving in Milan. Jim hadn’t had time to interview every one of them, or to accompany the photographer to every photoshoot, so he only knew of Spock through his research -- anecdotes and some old social media profiles. 

 

Then, Spock became the signature model of T’Pring Martel’s new line of men’s fashion, the face of one of the biggest names in the industry. And what a  _ face _ . Jim could hardly bring himself to care about the elaborate embroidery on those canvas shoes, the bold choice of fabrics (modern, simple, geometric designs with bright flashes of color, painted rather than printed in a move of incredible artistry, and -- okay, maybe Jim could care a little bit about the clothes). But watching that man move gracefully down the runway, as though walking on air, Jim found his attention drawn more often than not to the dusting of bright eyeshadow on his eyelids, the fierce look in his piercing, dark eyes peeking over sunglasses, the way the runway lights glinted off his smooth hair like a halo.

 

That appearance had earned the up-and-coming model 6,582 words. Jim had pitched the story as an intimate profile of a new big name, and gotten the green light, but he should have known, really. 

 

He should have known by the speed of his heart -- or the single-minded fascination or the spike of nerves before he even met Spock in person -- that he’d be lost by the first interview. Spock had greeted him in the sunroom of his Paris hotel; shaken Jim’s hand with exquisite care; spoken in deep, calm, and measured tones; and presented a picture so different from the fiery confidence he portrayed on the runway. He was gentle, a cat-lover, a college grad with a masters degree in astrophysics. And yet he was here, in a position so seemingly ill-fitted to him that Jim could only wonder how he was so damn good at it.

 

Jim had asked why Spock had chosen this path, when he could do practically anything with his education, and Spock had lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow in response. “Wide experience increases wisdom,” he had said, “provided experience is not sought solely for the stimulation of sensation.”

 

Jim had made that a pullquote on the first page of his story, the perfect line to illustrate to his readers what lay under the surface. Spock was different, wholly unique in a world that -- as much as Jim loved it -- had begun to feel vapid the longer he spent learning its secrets.

 

Then, there had been a cover story (5,321 words), a photo spread of Spock modeling the latest Chekov-Sulu designs. That interview had taken eight hours to transcribe, but Jim didn’t regret a moment. Sometimes he’d take the recording back a few seconds just to examine the way Spock’s voice sounded over certain words. The way he rounded the deep ‘o’ of “ d’orsay,” or the way he seemed to murmur the word “velvet” like a whisper shared between lovers.

 

Jim saw Spock everywhere soon after that. Every major event, every new studio, every fashionable locale where he went on assignment. Spock began to greet him by his first name, always shaking his hand in both of his own. Gentle. Quiet. Jim thought he was growing to know Spock, at least in some way, becoming friendlier, if not friends. But it was nearly two years before he saw Spock  _ smile _ \-- after all that time interviewing him and attending his events and raking his eyes over every picture of Spock he could find. All that, and the first smile was in response to a joke Jim had made about the hors d'oeuvres set up at one of their events. 

 

Jim had tried pitching even _ that _ as a story, “Spock Grayson smiles, breaking news, exclusive,” but his editor, Nyota, had steepled her fingers and pursed her lips and said “no,” as though a photo of Spock smiling on the cover of  _ Enterprising Fashion _ wouldn’t boost sales the whole month.

 

But that was where Jim found himself now, again, having written exactly 31,245 words about Spock Grayson to-date, asking for the opportunity to write more. Just a little more.

 

“No,” Nyota said, as if slamming a door in his face and bolting it. But Jim didn’t believe in locked doors in this line of work, and he’d certainly managed to break down Nyota’s often enough.

 

“He’s going to be modeling his own design!” Jim explained, again. “And you know how much the readers love models-turned-designers. Especially while he’s still in the game. Come on, it’s a good story!”

 

“I’m not saying it’s not,” Nyota said, “But I had one of the interns run the numbers and, Jim, in the last three years he’s been featured in 35 percent more articles than any other model. 35  _ percent _ . All written by you, I might add. Our readers need variety.”

 

The number gave Jim pause, but only for a moment. He flopped down into the seat across from Nyota’s desk, leveling his eyes at her. “So you’d ignore big news for the sake of variety? Maybe he  _ deserves _ 35 percent more coverage.” 

 

“You can have 200 words in Quick Hits,” she said, and Jim opened his mouth to complain before she cut him off. “200 words,” she insisted.

 

No one read Quick Hits. Quick Hits was beyond the back of the book, the section where they trained up their interns. 

 

“I’ve already set up the interview,” he admitted, halfway to whining. “Tonight. I thought this was a sure thing!”

 

“Jim--”

 

“I promised him a feature!” 

 

Nyota sighed, rubbing her head. “Jim, how long have you been writing for us?”

 

He thought he knew where this question was going, but hoped he was wrong. “Ten years,” he said cautiously.

 

“And you still haven’t learned? Jim,  _ never promise coverage. _ Even and especially if you have a crush on the guy. We’re approaching ‘conflict of interest’ territory here.”

 

Jim leaned back in his seat, looking at the floor instead of into his editor’s eyes. “I don’t have a crush on him.” It even sounded like a lie to his own ears.

 

Nyota tapped on her desk with her immaculate nails, putting her chin in her hand. “Okay, listen,” she said, drawing his eyes back to her. “Go ahead with the interview, but unless you get some incredible material -- I’m talking revolutionary -- we’re sticking you in Quick Hits. Got it?”

 

Jim opened his mouth, closed it again, and felt a pit of dread sink into his stomach. Everything Spock did was revolutionary, at least to him. What on earth would she consider big enough to warrant the story?

 

But at least the interview would go ahead. If nothing else, that meant he’d get to see Spock, to spend another hour or so in his company, to enjoy the rise and fall of his voice. And if all that resulted from it was a quick blurb, well. So be it.

 

“Okay,” he said, standing. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

Jim liked to conduct his interviews where the subject felt comfortable -- their home or a nice restaurant. In this case, since  _ Enterprising Fashions _ ’ offices and Spock Grayson both made their home in New York, he once again ascended the gold-plated elevator to Spock’s private apartment in Midtown, strolled down the elegant red running rug in the hallway, and stood outside Spock’s door, where he’d found himself so many times in the last three years it almost felt like visiting a friend. 

 

Almost.

 

Spock opened the door at Jim's knock, resplendent as always, wearing a simple gray shirt with an embroidered collar, slick black slacks -- his casual clothes if Jim were to guess. Simple silver eyeshadow highlighted his eyes, and there was a subtle sheen of color on his lips. But in spite of how ethereal Spock always seemed to look, he also wore an expression of gentle familiarity. 

 

“Jim,” he said, “welcome. It is good to see you.” He held out an arm to invite Jim inside. 

 

Jim smiled, feeling as though he looked like a gorilla in comparison to his companion, though he wore his nicest blazer and had at least tried to gel his hair. “Thank you for meeting with me,” Jim said courteously as he entered, taking off his shoes at the door. The apartment was sparse in its amenities, dark floors and white walls and crisp, white furniture, but it felt like Spock. Simple. Elegant.

 

“Not at all,” Spock said, leading Jim toward the couch, where they settled down together. Spock crossed his ankle over his knee, looking at Jim with undivided, expectant attention. “In fact, it is I who should thank you. Your extensive coverage is, as always, appreciated.”

 

The way Spock said “extensive” reminded Jim of Nyota, of 35 percent, of 31,245 words.

 

“About that,” Jim started, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. “Well, I’ve been tasked with returning to the office with a ‘revolutionary’ story, or I can’t go forward with the feature.” Normally he’d never tell a subject something like that, but this was Spock, and Spock had a way of inspiring honesty in him. Besides, Spock probably knew his interview techniques so well by now, he’d know if Jim started fishing. So Jim didn’t bother with fishing. He already knew what he’d find. “Any chance you have any dark secrets you could share with me tonight?” he asked. “Affairs? Arrest records?”

 

Spock’s lips ticked in a smile, and Jim grinned in response, glad Spock had recognized that as the joke it was.

 

“I do not,” Spock said evenly. “But I have appeared in many features. It is not of import.”

 

Jim’s smile faded slightly. “It’s ‘of import’ to me,” he said. “If I could write about you for every issue, I would.”

 

Spock’s eyebrow shot up into his bangs, and Jim bit his tongue. That was also something he would likely keep from any other subject, and  _ should _ have kept from Spock. 

 

“I cannot be as interesting as you imagine,” Spock said, expression softening. “Though I am grateful to have at least garnered  _ your _ interest.” 

 

Heart clenching in his chest, Jim cleared his throat, looking away. But Spock continued before Jim had the chance. “However,” he said, “I would regret to waste your time on an interview if you no longer have a story to write.”

 

“No, no,” Jim rushed to say, turning to face Spock more fully on the couch. “I wouldn’t mind, but I certainly don’t want to, ah, waste  _ your _ time. Maybe I should…” he nodded toward the door, indicating that he should leave. And he  _ should _ . He knew there wasn’t a story here that would satisfy Nyota. He’d just wanted--

 

“Or,” Spock offered, “we could simply disregard the interview. I had planned to prepare dinner once you left, if you might be interested in joining me.”

 

A pause passed between them. 

 

“For dinner?” Jim asked dumbly. He was a skilled interviewer, one of the best, and should have avoided the obvious question, but-- “You want to make me dinner?”

 

“If you would like,” Spock said quickly.

 

“I would  _ love _ that,” Jim heard himself saying, and found that it was true. Suddenly, an enormous pressure seemed to lift off his shoulders, the spectre of “The Story” fading away.

 

Spock stood, holding out his hand to help Jim to his feet. When Jim took it and lifted himself, Spock’s hand lingered in his, holding tight for the briefest moment. Jim met his eyes, suddenly incredibly conscious of how close they were standing. He could smell Spock’s cologne. 

 

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice low as his fingers tightened around Jim’s. “I trust you know that, if you wish to know me, you do not need an excuse. On any occasion, I would far prefer a conversation with you to an interview.”

 

Jim nearly blanched. “‘Excuse?’ I don’t -- this isn’t an excuse. I just--” but he paused at the look on Spock’s face, the memory of each one of their interviews passing through his mind in the span of a second. “Oh,” he said aloud before he could stop himself. How had he not realized before? He  _ had _ been using interviews as an excuse to see Spock. Maybe for  _ years _ . He had leveraged every spare ounce of news about him to spend an hour sitting in a room with him asking about his life. When he should have just asked the man out on a damned  _ date _ . It was unprofessional, to be sure, but more than that -- “Oh, I am so embarrassed,” Jim groaned, ducking his head, cheeks heating.

 

Spock released Jim’s hand gently, but caught his eyes instead. “Do not be,” he said. “I do not know how often you read your competitors, but you may notice that  _ Enterprising Fashions _ is the only publication to which I routinely grant interviews. That is not an accident. Though,” he paused, a small smile touching his lips. “It may be considered an excuse.”

 

Jim stared at him, dumbfounded. “To see me?”

 

Instead of answering, Spock simply gave Jim an enigmatic sort of smile. His hand drifted to Jim’s once again, fingertips grazing against Jim’s own, the kind of gentle, tentative pressure that belied his outward confidence, that intrigued Jim so fully whether Spock was striding down a runway or standing right here in his austere living room. Jim met the touch of Spock’s hand, his breath stuck in his chest as Spock’s smile grew. “Perhaps,” Spock said softly, “tonight I may learn more about you for a change.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, when Jim saw Nyota’s extension on his caller ID, he didn’t balk from it. He simply leaned back in his seat, put his feet on his desk and answered with a chipper “Morning, Ny. What can I do for you?”

 

“Saw your blurb in my inbox this morning,” Nyota said without greeting. “200 words as asked, on the dot. Nothing revolutionary then?”

 

Jim thought back to the feeling of Spock’s fingers lacing into his own, the press of his lips so soft against Jim’s, the way Spock’s hand had laid itself along Jim’s hip as though reluctant to let go, the way they’d parted only when the hour grew so late they couldn’t justify staying up anymore. Spock had texted him this morning: “I would like to see you again tonight.” The only excuse they needed.

 

A headline scrolled happily through Jim’s mind as if on an LED screen: “I fell in love with a fashion icon.” It’d be a great narrative feature, intimate to be sure. But certainly not something he was looking to write.

 

“No, nothing revolutionary,” Jim finally answered. “Nothing at all.”

 

Jim had now written 31,445 words about Spock Grayson, and would likely write many more as their careers progressed in tandem, but even the best damn journalist in the fashion industry didn’t kiss and tell.


	19. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing"
> 
> Pairing: K/S
> 
> Rating: G

On any given day, at any given moment, James T. Kirk wanted to kiss his first officer. Really  _ kiss _ him. He wanted to grip Spock hard by the arms and pull him in and feel those lips yield to his own. He wanted to cup Spock’s jaw or hold him against a wall or even just share a peck when the mood struck him. 

Sometimes it would be a passing thought as he listened to Spock rattling off numbers from a science survey, or watched Spock concentrate over a chessboard, or noticed Spock pause to think momentarily about what to order from the food synthesizer. Jim’s mind would wander down paths of possibility, thinking he could pull Spock in right then and lay a fat one on Spock’s lips, whether out in the open on the bridge or in the middle of the rec room. For a moment, he would be sure he couldn't wait until they were off-shift or out of the public eye. For a moment, he would think that maybe it didn't matter who saw and maybe it wasn't worth the hiding and maybe he could just follow his impulses the way he did on the bridge during a crisis. 

Ah, but impulses and _ instinct _ were different, and Jim’s instinct told him to be subtle, professional -- even as his impulses told him otherwise. Normally, he would have little trouble containing those impulses -- he  _ was _ a professional, after all -- but for one tiny detail.

On any given day, at any given moment, Spock wanted to kiss  _ Jim _ , too.

So they found their ways. Or rather, their way. Or, rather, the only way. The kiss of their fingertips, the vulcan  _ ozh'esta _ , wasn’t quite enough to satisfy, but it was something -- a touch, a brief expression of affection. As they entered the turbolift for their shift each day, and as they exited onto the bridge, Jim would hold out two fingers and Spock would meet them, no matter who was around or who might see. They were good at it -- hiding the contact with a well-placed body, or distracting from it somehow. And the kiss never lasted long. Just the brush of their fingertips and that sweet psychic hum of Spock’s mind -- enough to sustain Jim a couple hours before he found some excuse to get Spock in the turbolift again.

If they were alone, the touch would linger. But they were rarely alone.

“Perhaps we should be more careful,” Spock might say over dinner, meeting Jim’s eyes. “I believe Yeoman Rand may have noticed this morning.”

And Jim would laugh, wave a dismissive hand. No one noticed. Hell,  _ Jim _ hardly noticed. It was another part of the routine. Get up, get dressed, kiss Spock in the turbolift. Easy as breathing.

But of course, there were dangers to routine.

 

* * *

 

“No Spock today?” Bones asked one morning, falling into step beside Jim on their way to the lift. “He better not be sick without me knowing about it.”

Jim gave his friend an indulgent smile. “Healthy as an ox,” he assured. “He’s just going to the labs first thing to test that sample we picked up yesterday.”

Bones, satisfied, nodded. “Then maybe we’ll all have a nice quiet morning for once.”

“You don’t have to be on the bridge all the time, you know,” Jim reminded him as they moved into the turbolift. He grabbed the handle and said “bridge,” almost as an afterthought. “In fact,” he continued, “as CMO you should probably be in Sickbay, believe it or no--”

“What are you doing?” Bones interrupted, giving him a side-eyed look. Jim met those eyes, confused.

“Going to the bridge. I thought that much was obvious.”

“No, with your hand,” Bones said, waving to the appendage in question, which Jim only now realized was raised -- t wo fingers, outstretched, hanging untouched in the empty space between he and Bones where Spock usually stood.

“Oh,” Jim said, dropping his hand immediately to his side. “Nothing. Stretches. For -- to prevent carpal tunnel. Didn’t they teach you anything in medical school?”  He laughed, but it sounded awkward and disingenuous to his own ears. Bones’ eyes narrowed at him, and his smile fell.

“Stretches,” Bones repeated in a deadpan, and Jim was grateful that the turbolift doors chose that moment to open, offering him escape and distraction.

“Excuse me, Bones. Time to mind the store,” he said, likely far too quickly. He strode over to his chair without a backwards look, though he felt Bones’ eyes on him for a while. Thankfully no one else had seen, but Bones didn’t forget anything, and he didn’t let anything go. He’d ask about it again, maybe couched in concern for Jim’s ‘carpal tunnel.’

Jim kicked himself for the lapse, but refused to let the fact that it bothered him show.

Though the incident faded from his mind here-and-there throughout the day, he had to admit it had left him a little shaken. It was Spock’s desire no one know about their relationship just yet, and he had almost given up the ghost -- almost disrespected Spock’s wishes. If Bones knew anything about Vulcan expressions of affection, well. It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.

Jim considered the options, contingency plans, possible excuses, but in the end it came down to one truth: They couldn’t risk making these casual shows of affection routine. And they  _ had _ become routine.

 

* * *

 

“Maybe we should, ah, be more careful,” Jim admitted that night over dinner. Spock sat across from him at the table in his quarters, and he looked up in obvious confusion at Jim’s words.

It looked as though he might ask after the change of heart, but his expression softened at the look of guilt and worry that Jim knew showed on his face. Instead of speaking, Spock set down his fork, and reached two fingers across the table.

Jim met them without thought, his tension fading -- if only a little. He wanted to tell Spock what happened, wanted to apologize for nearly blowing their cover, wanted to assure Spock he would do whatever it took -- even refrain from kissing him for a full shift -- if it meant they could continue.

But he didn’t say any of that, because Spock spoke first.

“Or,” Spock said gently, running his fingers down Jim’s, a touch so warm and comfortable and intimate it made Jim’s chest ache. “Perhaps we should finally tell them.”

Jim felt something warm and airy well up inside him, and he knew his face would betray his excitement, his pride, his affection. To tell them. To tell the crew. It was as if Spock had suggested revealing this whole affair to their  _ families _ . Though, of course, Jim supposed it was nearly the same thing.

“Perhaps we should,” he said, knowing Spock would recognize the joy in his voice. He was rewarded with a soft smile, a gentle stroke of fingertips. With a wide grin, shifting forward, Jim laced their fingers together. “It would mean we could continue, you know. Kissing on duty like a couple of lovestruck cadets.”

Spock’s eyes were alight, bright and warm, and Jim’s smile widened. “I cannot imagine either of us would engage in an act of impropriety.”

Impropriety be damned, there was a promise in that expression, in the touch of their hands, and Jim knew he was blushing like a schoolboy -- just as he knew he didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! If you want to request a small fic or just chat, [talk to me on Tumblr!!](http://onedamnminuteadmiral.tumblr.com)


End file.
